Celestial Touch
by Frances Geira
Summary: Hell be damned, it was no match for him. Escape was inevitable…he would find her. And he would change her…moulding her into his own image. And, as for his sibling…well, fate would decide…VERGILxLADY, Dante, Nero…after DMC4
1. Prologue

Celestial Touch

_Free at last, finally tasting happiness, _

_Five years of hell for nothing,_

_Trapped inside the minds of failures._

_A wise man once said, _

_"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."_

_But we were dead, _

_So are we now invincible?~~_

**_PROLOGUE_**

In a manner of statistics, it had been nine days, twelve hours, and eighteen minutes since he had managed to pry himself away from, quite blatantly, fate.

Vergil had never been one for surprises. They did not really touch him, nor churn up any kind of emotion within him. But he had to admit, being back on the higher surface of earth was indeed, dare he say, unforeseen. He could never have even imagined that the realm of the living could be so full of consternation, so unexpected. He remembered hating this place, in a manner. But now it felt so unique, so different. The air that swam in his lungs as he walked, it was like fine wine. Fresh and light, he enjoyed it so much that he was almost certain that he could indulge in it until he was drunk with ecstasy.

It fed his weakened body, gave nourishment and life to him. He strode slowly, but as he regained his coveted power and strength, he continued with more constancy. His shoulders braced the discomfort, rising up. His aching legs, despite all their bruises and deep gnashes, swung back and forth relentlessly. And as time shed by him, his calm exterior returned, far stronger than before, his face forged into that all-too-familiar porcelain mask.

It was so unlike the abyss. That horrid realm of the damned he now despised so much. No longer would he act as a slave. No longer would he flap and struggle desperately, trying to touch freedom, only to have it shy away from his fingertips, vanishing before his despairing eyes.

No…now was his time. And he would embrace it hard, squeezing all of his advantages to his breast, and he could honestly swear upon high heaven and Lucifer's lair that he would not fail.

No one would stop him. No one **could** stop him. And if they had the audacity to dare then he would put them in their places, which was far lower and deeper than they could ever have even conjured up in their darkest nightmares.

He was not far now. His frayed heart guided him as he went, the surroundings slowly falling into place in his mind as he drove onwards. He touched his side now and again, only to twist his face in disappointment. He had forgotten that his treasured weapon had left his side during his battles in the underworld, but the feel of its power and majestic wonders were still engraved into his extremely intellectual brain.

He needed his blade back, his silent companion. His only companion. That was the first step.

And after that, he would be well underway…

He breathed in, clearing his throat in a way that would be taken as a passing by others, but for Vergil, his bare gasp meant something else. He was actually quite…excited, if that was the word. He was unclear on the symptoms of that emotion, so he was unsure. But yes. He was rather pleased with the outcome so far concerning this situation.

The best virtue being that he was finally, _finally _free. Being able to spread his wings was like a fragile flower to him, something that had not even been touchable since…how droll. He could not even remember anymore. All he knew was that he would not let opportunity slip this time. No one could steal his will of him again, no, never. His freedom would remain tangible, and no kind of being would stand in his way.

He could do what he wanted, as he intended. How refreshing. How utterly beautiful.

And oh, he had some things planned…

After hours of painful walking, he finally came to a halt. He had hardly noticed his surroundings as he had entered the city; the bright, artificial lights challenging the moon's radiance and all its natural effects. This strange mix of the modern world and twilight's elements confused him slightly, but he soon grew accustomed as he absorbed information. It wasn't like he had never seen a city before…not at all. But after so many years of enslavement, it was all very hard to accept. It was just that things seemed to have changed so much, moulded to differ. Thankfully though, he found himself standing outside his destination.

A pair of double doors guarded by a large bouncer fully suited in black confronted him. The guard's huge head turned in his direction, the sunglasses that hid away the bouncers eyes giving him no kind of incline of emotion. Yet he knew, if those shades were to be ripped off, his own pupils would stab at the bouncer's mercilessly, his eyes far more challenging than those of a pitiful human.

"Your name on the list, silver?"

That was indeed a new one. _Silver_. Of course, the guard was referring to his platinum hair. Hm.

He could hear the loud, repulsive club music coming from behind the door's that the bouncer guarded, and he looked above to see the sign "The Harlequin" glowing in neon blue, knowing then that this was indeed the correct place.

"I am here to see the Harlequin."

He sensed a brow cock from behind the guard's shades.

"Name?"

A pause.

"Vergil Sparda."

Immediately, the guard moved his humungous body aside.

"She's been waiting for you a while, sir."

Vergil's face refused to extend in measurement. He kept his emotion caged, as though cast in stone, and merely looked upon the guard with sulphuric eyes that screamed impudence.

"I am sure she has." with no more words needed to be exchanged, he entered the club.

He almost, _almost _sighed. But he swallowed down the horrid distaste in his mouth as his eyes slowly swept about the scene before him.

_Humane. How utterly, typically, completely humane._

The club was choc full, sweating, flailing bodies of humans dancing underneath the multicoloured disco lights, the different sexes mingling and winding as one. He watched with expressionless dislike as males and females openly grinded their bodies against one another in a fast rhythm to the pounding music, some even kissing and groping in dark corners of the club without abashment.

Deciding to hasten no more, he passed by as quickly as he could, brushing aside the odd stumbler and drunk. The back wall had only one glass door crafted into it, and with not one look back, he took hold of the cold handle and clicked open the lock, closing the glacial portal carelessly behind him after he entered.

It was almost as though silence was a person, for it suddenly crushed him in a fast embrace. After the colourful life that the club had boasted, the back room seemed to be very demeaning. It was like the beating of one's heart had ceased in a millisecond, and Vergil could not help but frown at his new surroundings. Mirrors encased his vision, a hundred Vergil Sparda's glaring back at him. All along the walls they were, lined up like a crystalline army throughout the long, modernised corridor before him.

He slowly turned to face himself in the nearest mirror. He looked himself up and down, from head to toe. He noticed how torn his sapphire coat was, how blemished and bruised his skin looked through the windows that the rips in his trousers left, how beaten and broken his torso was, poise sagging due to the never-ending pain that drenched his body.

And his hair…oh no.

Damn it to hell, he looked like his brother. Like the very embodiment of his other half. His snowy hair hung down over his face, shielding his eyes like wintry curtains. His bangs caressed his skin lightly, but all the same, he _hated _it.

He was not his sibling, he would never be his brother. Though one could interpret the difference through their expressions, his brother's visage always full of such overbearing confidence, cocky as a peacock. So vulgar. And then he, so calm, so composed. But that exterior was never one to be taken lightly, for his lethal guard was well and truly alive and prepared through every minute of his life.

But when his hair was like this…flattened over his face in such a boyish manner, like a teen crazing over his favourite rock band, Vergil could hardly stand it.

He growled sinisterly, feeling his fists clenching hard. It took every fibre of his being not to slam a punch right into the mirror, which would be a vain attempt to punish the resemblance that his reflection presented between he and his brother. Although he would love to hammer the glass into a million fragments until they were nothing but dust, he knew that it would do his brother no harm, no matter how hard he imagined the reflection to be him.

So, instead, Vergil took a breath in through his nose, and calmly slipped a broken hand through his hair, pushing his locks back so that his appearance might please him and allow others to understand that it was he who was present, not his brother.

He moved down the hall as purposefully as need be, making sure that his demeanour was one that displayed his determination and relentlessness openly. Coming to the end of the corridor, he had to take a moment of hesitance to take the time needed to switch his gaze, for the reflections haunted him like ghosts. But now he could see that the corridor changed direction, round a bend to the left, so he followed. Another glass door soon came into view, the muffled sound of laughter breaching his ears. He wondered what could be so entertaining. But then the name "Harlequin" made it seem obvious and ideal.

Vergil did not knock. He did not feel that he needed to, did not see the point. So instead, he opened up the door, not with a bang, but just as though he had been formerly invited.

He calmly closed the glass behind him, feeling eyes burning into his head before he had even gazed upon this new room. The merry voices had ceased as soon as he had entered, replaced with a painful silence and occasion whispers. Raising his head up, his icy eyes giving away no hint of feeling, he took in what he considered to be a very strange place.

Glass. Again. What was most noticeable was the large table centred in the room, four men sitting around it. Cards and money scattered its crystal surface, making it deem-able that he had interrupted a poker game. In each corner of the room, he noticed large glacial figurines of glossy angels, reaching up for the untouchable heavens.

One man stood up, glaring daggers at him. Yet of course, Vergil did not flinch.

"Who the hell are you? This room is private!" yelled the man, pointing back at the door that had recently been disturbed.

"I am here to see your mistress." Vergil mused most bitterly, a tone of boredom clinging to his icy voice.

The man before him seethed.

"How dare-!"

"Sit, man, and be still." A crisp feminine voice ripped through the man's sentence, shaming his accusations. His fat cheeks bloomed crimson, and he slumped back into his chair, obeying his mistress.

Vergil watched as the shadow lurking near a dark corner stepped out, and transformed into a woman. Her figure was beautiful beyond belief; something that even the stiff Vergil could not ignore, though he did not show it. She wore a most extravagant suit, sensuously slipping over every curve of her exquisite body. Her pale skin, white as snow, seemed to shine between the contrasting gleams that the mirrors gave off, her yellow, almost silver hair long and straight, hanging down over her shoulders. Although he could not see her face, for it was hidden by a diamante mask that shimmered vividly, he knew that she was, by nature, an extremely radiant woman. He could see her glazed, ivory lips pursing as she surveyed him closely.

"Leave, gentleman. I wish to talk to this man alone. You may continue with your game later."

Whispers and grumbles broke out as the men pulled themselves to their feet, glaring Vergil up and down with glued expressions as they left the room.

Silence inhabited the air for a little while, before he noticed the Harlequin smile, her expression unreadable due to the fact that he could not see how her eyes evolved through the slits in her mask. So he neared.

"I must say…" she began, her voice silky and smooth "I usually foresee visits. However, although it sounds most disheartening, I never thought I'd see a Sparda again."

Her tone towards the end had been a little playful and light, but he hardly noticed it. Once again, it was his brother that cropped up into his mind, born from her words.

"A Sparda? So I take it you have not seen my brother since my…departure." He ran a finger over the cold, glass table, brushing the poker cards gently so they shifted a little, continuing to watch her through the corner of his eye.

Her head cocked in an odd manner. Like a curious child.

"I have never see your brother anyway, Vergil. Your disappearance made no difference to my meeting him."

He would have laughed at that, but his ribs were still healing after the many tortures he had suffered through in hell.

"Disappearance? One way to put it…" he whispered under his breath, entwining his fingers around a card, and flipping it near his face to reveal its identity.

A joker.

That brought back some memories, alright.

"Remind you of anyone?" he blinked as he felt the sound of her voice so close to him, her breath loud in his ear.

"Yes. That insolent fool."

He was referring to Arkham. He was not sure is she understood this, was not sure if she could answer with an understanding, but the thought of that useless scum made him think of…

…_her._

He shook his head, shooing the thought away.

"You seem to be distracted, dark slayer. Is there something bothering the great son of Sparda?"

_Contemptuous woman…_

He heard her hiss as he pounded his aching fist under her throat, lodging his palm around her windpipe. He lifted her up into the air, where she hung quietly.

_He wanted to rip that mask off…wanted to see her pain, if there was any…wanted to drink in all her fear and use it as his arsenal._

But he knew it would come to no avail.

"Don't mock me." he rasped like a snake, ready to plunge its fangs into its prey. Yet, she only sighed, folding her arms and waiting fearlessly for him to put her down. He smiled somewhat, his lip curling cruelly, and without defeat, he threw her across the room.

He fought of the urge to pound the table as she jumped to her feet and brushed herself off carelessly, as though nothing had happened.

_Damn demoness…_

"Now that you've had your little tantrum, Vergil, would you care to tell me why you are here?" the Harlequin stated in a very matter-of-fact tone, hands on her hips.

He took a moment for himself. He knew why he had come; this demoness, the Harlequin, was a keeper of many secrets. He had known her during his stay in the underworld, though she left quite a few months before he managed to escape. She was considered a very important figure by some, for she knew many things and rarely asked for a payment when she gave aid and advice. Why, one might ask? Because she helped both sides…demon and human, and the best part of it all was when she watched them clash against each other. _That _was her reward. She just loved watching them all squirm, even her own kind.

Nonetheless, Vergil's stay in Hell had not been such a nice reprieve, and now that he was free, he had a high score to settle. The first thing he wanted to do was find his sword, and he had guessed that the Harlequin would be able to give him the low-down on that little dilemma.

However, he doubted she knew anything of his twin. Which was just typical, in his opinion…

"You hold a great deal of secrets close to your heart, madam. Especially concerning the damned. And I have things that I must see to."

"Concerning the damned?"

"Eventually…"

She put a finger to her lips thoughtfully, painted, metallic nails dancing in all her shiny brilliance.

"It depends on what you would like to know, oh great one." she dared to jest again, compressing a snigger as she watched his face freeze up with inner rage.

He gritted his teeth behind his lips before continuing.

"I have lost an important heirloom. Something my father passed onto me. A sword named Yamato. I need to know its current location."

"Ah, yes of course, that beautiful katana, now I remember." she said airily, waving a delicate hand about. "Hm…you may find this to be quite humorous."

His face remained clad in seriousness.

"How lucky for me." he drolled, completely uncaring.

She shrugged, taking his heavy attitude as lightly as she could.

"Yamato is in the possession of a young man, who slays demons as an occupation. And, ironically enough, he works for your brother."

He twisted his lip in annoyance, frustrated that it seemed to be the same story every time.

He wanted his mother's amulet…he had to pry half of it away from his brother. He wanted the power of his father…his brother stood in his way.

"What's wrong, dark slayer? Not as funny as you expected?" the Harlequin sniggered irritably, and he watched her with bubbling anger as she picked up a stack of cards from the table, holding them up to the slits in her mask.

"Be quiet and do your job." he muttered sourly, turning away and taking a few slow paces as she read a fortune.

He only had to wait a moment.

"The young man often visits your brother's shop, but he does not live there. He usually works alone, but now and again your sibling tags along…plus his partner and friend."

"Partner and friend?" he turned to face her again, hands behind his back.

"Yes. His partner being the blond demoness who resembles the traits of your mother, and his friend is a lady who goes without a name."

He arched a silver brow.

"I am unfamiliar with such a lady."

"No, you are not. If I am correct, she prefers to be known _as_, simply, "Lady.""

Hi heart stopped. His lungs heaved. His mouth turned as dry as sand, and the apple in his throat throbbed ever so slightly as he took a swallow.

_Stop it._

He forced himself to shut down as not to show his emotions. Luckily for him, the Harlequin did not seem to notice anything different in his character as she set her cards back down on the table.

_Of course…she works for Dante. No, she's __friends __with Dante…_

It took everything he had to stop himself from sneering with jealousy. He scolded himself however, angered by his weakness.

He could not let these thoughts keep cropping up on him…

"So the sword is with him now? What is this boy's name?" he inquired, adjusting himself to his full height, boasting his composure and invincibility.

"Yes, it is, and his name is Nero. If you carry on to a city named Fortuna, you are sure to find him with haste. But perhaps you should be discrete. After all, if this boy were to find out that you are the brother of-"

"I am aware of what I intend to do without you telling me. Your opinion is not required."

With that, he turned on his heel to retreat to the glass door, sensing the Harlequin gazing at his back solemnly.

He looked back once before he left.

"I will not return for help again, demoness, so you should be sure to never see another Sparda after this night."


	2. Mission Unknown

Rays of sunlight made themselves known in a small shop a few miles away from Fortuna. Golden light twinkled through beige blinds that were hung over the windows, purposefully placed there to block out the day. But the sun did not give in, and she spread her glowing fingers through the gaps, blazes of yellow and bright orange separating shadow from image throughout the shop.

In all fairness, it was quite a nice place. The usual things were all present; the desk, an occasion registry book here and there, a couple of chairs, and a phone. But the other little details seeped secrets to any intruder, giving away a couple of facts about the person who owned this shop.

A large juke-box rested in a corner, nothing but rock music available on its menu. Where those occasion books scattered the window panes and laminate desk, pizza boxes lay upon their covers, suggesting laziness rather than intellect. And if one took a peep through the arch leading to the back room, one would see a large pool table and refrigerator, covered in magnets that read such messages like "a lap-dance a day keeps sexual frustration at bay."

But still, there was nothing to suggest that the shop was not open for respectable business. Though, however, it was very empty…

However, if anyone had been present in the main room of the shop, they would have heard a high, grumbling roar of a motorcycle approaching on the outside street. The sound of hot, skidding wheels screeched as the bike came to an abrupt halt, and a few seconds later, the bell to the shop screamed for attention, and the locked door rattled as the being on the other side shook the handle vigorously.

No answer.

A deafening fist then pounded the door, reassured due to the sign that read "open".

Nada.

A loud sigh came from outside, before the door was forced aside impatiently, the lock sounding with a broken crack, the bell above chiming happily.

Footsteps disturbed the quiet shop, echoing off the wood. They soon came to a halt, as the being surveyed their surroundings closely.

The intruder was a young man, around the temperamental age of nineteen. His long legs were enveloped in a pair of black pants, a weapon harness adjusted around his hips and thighs, holding a silver pistol in a holster. His torso was encased in a black t-shirt, with a red hoodie over it. Two swords were strapped to his back, one rather large one with a complicated handle which was attached to a mechanism, and the other was a katana, its blade hidden since it was sleeping soundly in its sheath.

The young man's face twisted a little, thinking to himself. His eyes were unreadable since they were shielded by a pair of black sunglasses, and his silver hair contrasted with the colour, hanging down over his forehead.

"Where the hell is that guy? So much for open business…" The youth muttered to himself, sniggering somewhat as he placidly set himself down behind the desk, threw off his sunglasses, and helped himself to a piece of cold pizza.

He pulled a magazine towards him, opening up the cover curiously. He flipped the page, before ceasing to chew and gulping down quickly.

Page 3 girl…

"Uh, so Dante…" he whispered, continuing to flick through the magazine while munching on his pizza. A few minutes went by before he heard a cough come from the floor above him, followed by an upstairs door banging open, and the heavy sound of a body descending the stairs. His eyes shifted to the banister, waiting for his partner to round it, and on q, an older man than he appeared.

The elder was combining a hand through his wet hair, apparently after taking a shower. He wore his usual pants, but his torso was shirtless, the way he always looked after a morning shower.

You would think that the elder might be surprised to see a young man with his legs resting upon his desk, reading his articles and consuming his food. But no. Instead, the elder only rolled his eyes and approached.

"I thought I locked the door…" he sighed raising a brow at the youth, who returned his goofy gesture with a roll of his sulphuric eyes.

"Yea, well, if ya wanna keep me out, your gonna have to reinforce your locks." the youth sneered in a more playful manner, rather than a scoff. He eyed up his boss again, a little judgmentally. "And put a shirt on old man. Seriously, no one wants to see an old guys pecks, Dante."

The elder, Dante, smiled at his young employee while shaking his head, before pulling on his usual garments, followed by his signature red coat.

"Um…I don't think your gonna need that coat, Dante. Its like a hundred degrees outside. I left mine on my bike…"

"I always got my coat, kid. Never know when the weathers gonna turn."

Shrugging, the younger jumped to his feet and picked up his sunglasses.

"So we're ready now, right?" he questioned lightly, Dante clearly able to see how impatient the youth was due to his constant fidgeting.

"Nope. Gotta wait for Lady." Dante murmured, pulling on his boots and fastening the laces.

"Who the hell…?" the youth asked, more to himself than his boss. But then he remembered, and a kind of grimace washed over him. "Oh…yea…the girl."

"Don't put your money where your mouth is, kid. Cause she could roundhouse your ass in a second, Ima tell you that now. One thing you should know bout Lady, Nero, **don't **piss her off. Hell, I should now. That dame is feisty."

Nero cocked a brow again before snorting, making Dante grumble lowly to himself.

_Damn kid. Friggin insubordinate youth today…don't know nothing bout real women…hell, all he's got is that dang damsel who aint got the first damn clue bout self defence…_

Actually, that reminded him of something…

"So, kid." Dante broke through the awkward silence that he had created. "How's your gal taking all this? I mean, your both living together now, so doesn't she get a little pissed with you? Always working outside of Fortuna and all?"

Nero waved a hand impassively, a bored look on his face.

"Nah, it doesn't really bother her. I prefer it this way, 'swell…"

"Why? From where I'm standing, that doesn't sound like your relationship is very solid…"

"No, it is." Nero insisted, a little agitated. "Its just…Kyrie's got these…ideas."

Dante grunted lowly, moving from fold to stand.

"Like?"

"Well…she wants…more, if you get me. More out of our relationship."

Dante cocked his head. It seemed he was missing the point. He himself was not an expert on the 'female mind'. He could just about manage with Trish because she was pretty much a clone of him, only the female version. And he had learnt to deal with Lady since he had been forced to take the time needed to listen to her problems years ago. Still, her temper could be a burden, even to this day…

"More as in?" Dante remained clueless.

Nero pouted, pacing a few times before he answered.

"Kyrie wants…a family. She wants kids, and marriage, and the whole deal. And…I'm not really ready for that kind of commitment."

Dante could not help but laugh. Honestly, the kid's words were bullshit.

"Oh, c'mon kid! You risked your life for the girl! I think the whole "big commitment" ship has sailed! You've shown her that she means more to you than life itself; is having a family really all that bad?"

Nero looked as though he had just been hit by a train.

"Of course it is! Damn, Dante, I'm barley nineteen, and I hunt demons as an occupation! That's doesn't scream 'happy families' to me! What the hell were you doing when you were nineteen, huh? Cos I'm sure that you weren't raising no family!"

_When I was nineteen? I was putting my best effort into stopping my brother from opening up hell…_

The chiming bell above the door made both Dante and Nero look around, and Dante couldn't help but snigger as he saw the kid gawp a little.

A young-looking woman had just entered, dressed in a very customized kind of suit. She had no shirt under her cream coloured jacket, therefore a lot of her cleavage was on display, hence catching Nero's eye. She wore shorts that only came to mid-thigh, revealing a lot of leg, though her long boots came up to her knees. A humungous weapon that could even challenge its wielders size was strapped onto her back, and she shifted its strap more to the left of her shoulder-blade as she intruded. She too had a weapon harness entwined around her hips, three or so holsters on each side, even though she only had two guns.

Her natural shade of skin was perfect, not a blemish to be seen anywhere. Her eyes were hidden by a pair of brown-lensed shades, and her hair was cut into very stylish layers, ebony in colour.

She looked over at Dante, approaching confidently without flaw. Nero, however, still had not averted his eyes, and Dante took a step closer to him, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Well, well…" Dante sighed, arms extended in a jesting manner as the woman came to a halt, sagged her poise, and folded her arms. It seemed that she had already lost patience…

"Haven't seen you for a while, Lady. Not that it's a bad thing…"

The woman's lip curled, frustrated vibrations bouncing from her tempered mouth. It looked like she was trying desperately hard not to mouth him off.

"You owe me a lot of money, Dante. That last mission of yours should have been my rent…" she had a very clean voice, close-cut and clarified. It was rather narrative, yet soft and pleasant, despite the venomous touch that had seduced her words.

Dante cocked a brow, seeing open opportunity for a tease.

"Ah, rent? So where are you staying, babe? Maybe I could come over later and…you know…"

Lady opened her mouth almost immediately, no doubt in order to release a clever insult. But instead she stopped herself, picked up a hand, and waved it once, dismiss-fully.

"Shut up and introduce me properly…" she sighed, sagging her poise to the right.

"Fine. Nero, Lady. Lady, Nero. All done. Lets go…" With that, Dante retrieved his sword from behind his desk, strutting towards the door with it hoisted on his shoulder.

Lady looked over to Nero, and he could see a dark eyebrow arch from behind her shades. Something about her professional demeanour intimidated him, though it didn't show on his surface. She was just so strong-willed, it seemed, and the way she held herself made it very hard to be able to interoperate with her character. Usually, Nero could understand within seconds the little details that stitched together someone's persona. But it was different this time. This woman was an entirely new kind, one that he had not come across in his young life. She wasn't like Trish, who Nero had managed to stir up a steady relationship with. Lady was far more closed, and she didn't seem to be one whom talked about matters of irrelevance, unlike Dante and Trish. When Nero took missions with those two, he was sure to be part of a conversation, no matter what the situation. And the oddest thing about Lady so far that he had realised, was that she was not unconfident for such a kept soul. In fact, she might even be more confident than himself…her quick snide remarks and knowledge for business that Dante had informed him of told him that…

"Ignore him…" Nero murmured, taking in a breath, and offering her his hand to shake. As those words escaped his mouth, however, he mentally slapped himself.

_Why the hell did I just say that? That makes me sound like I think I know Dante better than her, makes me sound arrogant…and she's the one who's known him for years, not me…_

The woman only looked at his outstretched palm like it was some strange object, but after a little while, she unfolded her arms and took his hand into her own red leather-gloved fingers.

"That's how I deal with him…" she sighed airily, before snatching her hand back, and walking after Dante through the front door.

While scolding himself for being so ignorant, Nero rested his shades back on the bridge of his nose, slowly making his way outside.

He wondered what they had installed for him. Or rather, what Dante had installed for them…

He had known Dante long enough now to understand how truly…_hard_…he made things. Missions were never easy with Dante, and they excelled far beyond simplicity, even when they concerned matters that Nero could handle all on his own. For example, if there was a horde of demons that could be dismissed with a bit of raging ammunition, you could bet your ass that Dante would find a way to be so overly dramatic, that it wasn't even funny. Instead of just taking them out with Ebony and Ivory, he would go the whole damn way, releasing the shebang by bringing Rebellion out to play. Time was not of the essence in Dante's mind…for he would spend a good twenty minutes slicing and dicing…style, he called it. Fun, he called it. Practice, he called it.

And what did Nero call it? A waste of blood, sweat, and valuable time…

Though similar in many ways, since the youth had begun his work with the hunter, he had realized that they were both very opposite, too.

So, after all this experience, working with Dante over the past few months…he wasn't sure that today's task was going to be so easy.

Then again, maybe Lady would be able to make Dante less childish in the heat of battle. Either way, Nero supposed he didn't care. As long as he could get home in time for Kyrie not to suggest him abandoning his job to work closer to home, it was fine by him…

He hated the idea of working in Fortuna…

Even if he felt like Dante was sometimes a corruptive boss who made him lose time with his loved one, he would pick him over a dreary office job any day…

"Hey, kid, c'mon already!" He heard Dante call from outside Devil May Cry. He walked out into the blazing sun, which immediately began to bake his skin, before a horrified look heavily took him.

_Oh…no way…_

"Dante, get off my bike! You have your own!" Nero cried, approaching Dante heatedly, who was straddling his dear bike, inspecting the gears.

"Cant. It's broke." the elder mused with a cock of his brows. "Now stop being a little girl and hop on, Dorothy."

"Shut up, jackass." Nero growled, but abided by Dante's command, and jumped on behind him. "I should at least be able to drive my own bike though, old man…"

"Yea, well, I called it, so deal with it." the elder sighed, kicking the bike so that it roared furiously. And at the sound of the purring engine which followed, he wolf-whistled.

Nero looked about himself, searching the area…

"You ready to race, kid?"

"What the hell you talkin' bout now?" the younger asked dreamily, trying to find a glimpse of Lady.

_Where did she go?_

The opposing, thunderous sound of an engine made him start a little, and he saw an amazing looking motorcycle round the corner of the street behind him, Lady riding it at high speed. She kicked into further acceleration, and as she passed the unmovable Nero and Dante, reared the bike into a wheelie.

"Damn showy babe…" Nero heard Dante sigh as he held onto his seat tightly, the bike revving into speedy pursuit.

The wind ripped through their hair as they went, combing strands and locks into ever-changing styles as the mileage clock's dial swivelled to the right.

"Hey, Dante, where we going anyway? What's the mission?" Nero called to his boss over the wind, eyes tearing due to the swift breeze that gouged at his sight.

"Don't worry 'bout it…Lady will lead the way."


	3. Screaming Sword

"No! Please…p-please! I beg of y-you sir! P-please don't!"

He looked down upon the pathetic wretch quivering at his feet. The victim was a middle-aged man, around thirty years old, and he was only making matters worse for himself by begging.

"Then tell me where he is…" The calm voice of the captor sounded, the bleeding, shaking man raising his eyesight; pupils bouncing with nerves as he surveyed the man above him. It was not the captor's looks that frightened him, in fact, he was an exceedingly handsome man. It was the way his face never started, never changed. How those eyes burned into him, icy blue manipulated by ferocious fire. As he looked down upon him, his visage did not even quiver in movement, nor did he blink. He was just like some divine sculpture, yet so cold and heartless, that he was almost glacial.

"But…I,…I don't…" the victim whimpered, scarlet liquid seeping out of his mouth as he released the words, bloodshot eyes blinking painfully. But he screamed horridly as the gun cocked, shaking his head like a mad man as the pistol's nose met with the skin of his fore.

"That is not the correct answer, sir. And I am afraid you are running out of chances…one last attempt to speak the truth. Where is the boy?"

The victim burst into tears, miserable as his sorrow had no affect of pity on the hand that levelled the gun. The cold metal of the cocked pistol remained clad to his head, and he cried out as he heard the barrel rattle, the gun's broadside having been smacked hard across his face.

"You are testing my patience, sir. Do not pull my rope taunt. Now, tell me where he is, without crying like a stupendous child. Save your tears for someone who cares…for I promise you, if you continue with this charade, I will run every bullet that this gun possesses through your head, and your wife can come home to find your corpse. Do you truly want that?"

The victim shook his head wordlessly, saliva and blood escaping his mouth as he gawped at the ground in despair.

_How disgustingly human…_

"I didn't think you would. Now spare me your insolence, and tell me where he is."

The victim sat silently for a few seconds, rocking backwards and forwards, the gun's nose following his movement.

"I…there is a woman…his lover." the fallen man whimpered, eyes widening.

"And?"

"S-she lives in Fortuna…at the a-address written on the p-paper laying on that d-desk…" he whispered, pointing over to the far end of the dark, dense room they were in. The captor lowered the gun calmly, striding over to the wooden desk in less than two steps.

He gazed down at the paper, taking it into his unfailing hand.

_31_

_Opera House Street_

_Fortuna City_

He considered the simple words on the paper deeply, his eyes gradually meeting with the image of himself in the mirror propped up on the desk's surface.

_His face…his eyes…his skin…just like his brother. _

"Fortuna…and this is his lover's address?"

"Y-yes."

"And you think he shall be with her?"

"Y-yes!"

"Liar…"

"Wh-"

But before the bloody man could finish his word, a bullet was released from the barrel's clutches, and with great speed, it broke through his skull, embedding itself within his brain.

The victim collapsed, and the blood from his shattered head began to pool, creating a shallow, crimson lake.

The captor did not flinch. He had not even turned to aim as he had pulled the trigger. In fact, he was still staring at himself in the mirror, the dead man so close to him already a forgotten waste.

He looked at the pistol in his hand, loath-fully.

"Vile arm…" he hissed at it, throwing it across the room so that it clattered against a shelf, before landing beside its original, deceased owner.

He hardly noticed the shelf's contents desert it, scattering the ground with books and ornaments.

He continued to gaze at himself. Hate was indeed a deep, woeful emotion, but it was something that he was actually happy to bear. Hate made his drive roar, made him want to continue and never give in. Which he wouldn't…not without closure. And he swore too himself that he would never use ammunition as his arsenal again, especially once he found his sword. He was unsure on when that would be; but hopefully, his efforts would speed it up a little.

He caught sight of something in the mirror's edge, making him squint and start twice. A reflection…of a book cover. He turned, looking down at the object near his feet.

_Notes._ It read.

He swooped down and picked up the small book from the floor, the emerald cover, engraved with gold, now stained by the victim's leaking blood.

It seemed to be a diary, and as he flicked through the pages, he found one particular piece of information that could have made him smile…if he were not so wrapped, that was.

It read: _Fortuna castle. Agnus's chamber. Below the Angel Creation. Order in possession of the key, Yamato._

So it was true. The man whom he had just murdered had been a member of the Order, that was, before the Order had been recognised as a sham. But that was all that he knew, and he was not particularly bothered about any other information concerning them. He only wanted one thing…Yamato. Though he knew that the information he had found was old and frail; in other words, the katana was no longer in the Order's possession…but, it had been, and he wanted to know why.

He considered what he should do. He could carry on to Fortuna, and find that girl. Or maybe, he would do that later instead…

For now, he decided to try and find a way to unfold the mystery concerning his weapon.

Shaking his head at the corpse, he ripped out the paper from the diary, folding it and slipping it under his vest for safe keeping.

He only took one last glance at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his silver hair, making sure that it was combed back.

But, before he left, the fully regained Vergil Sparda punched the mirror with all the strength that he could summon, savouring the imaginary thought that he had just smashed his fist into his brother, watching the uncountable pieces of glass fly through the air, like a million members of Dante's fibre…

Lady's hands released their hold on her motorcycle's handlebars, leaving the throttle alone. She sat up straight, balancing herself and her bike with her left leg, her foot dug snugly into the snow.

She gazed upwards, at the building that stood in her way. Gothic features, and dark outlines of perfectly symmetrised towers made the huge building into a castle, deeply and darkly engraved into the night's canvass. The full moon flourished the snow below with a cold shimmer, but still, beautifully.

The mission should be easy, she thought. A walk in the park. All that was needed was to get in, inspect Fortuna castle, kill whatever wandering demons they could find if there were any, and then get out.

Simple, really.

She turned her head to the side slightly, as she heard the sound of another bike coming up behind her, the engine ceasing to growl as it stopped.

She gave it three seconds, tops, before Dante would complain.

She was right on time…

"Damn it, Lady, why the hell didn't you tell me that I had to drag my bike through the snow?" He had already dismounted the bike, and he strode over to her while he spoke, half seriously, yet almost comically.

"If I recall…" Lady prompted, flicking a long leg off her bike so that she was standing and facing him. "That bike's Nero's. Not yours."

"Oh. Right. Yea." he sighed, his face twisted into defeat. She had to admit, he could be funny…but only when he wasn't trying to be. Most of the time he was just annoying, in her book anyway.

Shaking her head, she began to walk towards the castle; one of the most infamous tourist sites in Fortuna, however, a lonely landmark during midnight hours. Especially since the shroud that had covered up the Order's scandals had been torn off, revealing their true intentions to the world.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Dante…" she cooed as she walked away. "You know, since thinking is quite a foreign thing to you."

"Ha-ha, look…" Dante pointed, turning back to Nero, who was now approaching his boss. "…Lady made a joke! How original of you babe."

Nero only rolled his eyes as he passed by Dante, trying to catch up with Lady. He had a sore ass from sitting on that bike for too long, and his neck ached from the horrible thrusts that it had endured, as Dante consistently accelerated…he was in no mood for jests.

Realising that they were not willing to join in with the game, Dante shrugged and began to advance alongside Nero.

He hated the kid on days like this. Damn, he could be so boring. In fact, when he acted so icy, he reminded him of his brother.

Unfortunately. Not to mention typically.

Nero did resemble Vergil, in a few ways. He looked like him for one thing. If his hair was pulled back, which happened now and again in battle, damn, it was like looking at a ghost of Vergil. And his voice was almost an uncanny comparison. It was hard to recognise since Nero lost his temper _a lot_, which meant that his voice went up about an octave higher when he yelled. Yet, Dante remembered the rare times when he had heard Vergil lose the plot, and damn, it really was pretty scary, because his brother and Nero sounded almost identical. Though, Nero's sound was much warmer than Vergil's had ever been. Vergil, being the self-centred, narcissistic, venomous bastard that he was…

Only, during the time when he and Dante had shared a relationship that was truly based on brotherhood, he had been much different. Much like Nero was now. Strong willed, yet good and selfless.

It was a shame that all of that had changed.

Dante shook his head, shooing those thoughts away. He willed himself to concentrate on the present.

The three continued to slowly trudge through the snow, making their way towards a bridge that was the only connection between the mountains and Fortuna castle. Lady trooped ahead, yanking Kalina Ann higher onto her shoulder, so that she skipped a little with the weight shift. Nero dragged his feet behind him lazily, but damn, his eyes flew open when he saw Lady's jerky movement. He just couldn't help but notice just how _tight_ those little shorts were, hugging her rear as she went. He shook his perverted eyes away, but not before Dante had realised.

"Reality check, isn't it kid?" the younger winced when he heard that tone in Dante's voice, preparing himself for the wise cracks.

"What is?" he grumbled back without looking at him.

"Y' know…here I am, having lived out most of my hunting career surrounded by sexy gals, and then there's you…who doesn't have any experience with women, other than a catholic school girl. Very sad."

Nero growled maliciously at that; although he knew Dante was only joking, he hated the way he had just described his lover. Even if it was slightly true…

"Shut up, Dante. I'm not a dog…like you are…"

"Hey, I'm not the one checking out Lady's ass."

"Shut up!"

"So you keep telling me…notice, it aint working…"

The two suddenly stopped their quarrying, as they almost banged into a now still Lady. Passing each other an annoyed look at first, they soon understood that something was wrong.

She stood frozen in immobility and silence, one hand still holding onto Kalina Ann's strap tightly, clenching more so as she looked ahead.

"Hey, what's the hold up, babe?" Dante tried to awaken her, but still, she didn't stir. She opened her mouth, as if ready to reply, but it seemed she couldn't. Her lips pursed, as though in second thought, and again, her fingers squeezed into her palms so hard that they could have bled.

Dante followed her gaze, or at least where he sensed her eyes were looking from behind her shades. And then, he saw it too.

_Near the doors of Fortuna castle, where the moon shone down into the arch's opening, he swore that he could see a figure. A silhouette of a person, likely male, glowing with a fine lustre, basking in the celestial light given from above. Though features could not define themselves, a long coat trailed behind the being in a ghostly breeze, seemingly surrounded by aura. And, what could be seen of the persons hair was silver…or perhaps, it was just the moon's illusions._

Nero continued to stare at them in complete awe and perplexity, unbeknownst to what they were both looking at.

"What's wrong?" he asked, searching the area about them with worried eyes, instinctively grabbing for the handle of his sword, Red Queen, which lay strapped to his back. His fingers brushed against its mechanism, preparing himself. As he went to grab, however, his skin caressed Yamato's handle, and he let out a scream that reverberated throughout the snowy, misty moors. It was frightful and deafening, blocking out all essence of silence for a moment in time.

The sudden sound woke Dante from his daydream, as did Lady, both of them brought back by Nero's cry.

_Yet, before she could pit her full attention to the young man, she took a glance back to the castle door's…only to find that the being had vanished._

The kid was on his knees, yelling in pain, his human hand held tightly in his own demonic grasp as he stared into the skin of his palm intensely. His back tensed up as well, for he could feel the same heat that Yamato had passed onto his hand charring his coat, could practically hear the sword's pitch of squealing metal as it chimed loudly, the way it had the day he had resurrected it. A horrible feeling writhed within him, like a great snake, twisting and turning, burning to rip its way out of his torso. It was like a million white hot daggers had just pierced him, the pain starting from his hand and poisoning the rest of his body.

"Kid, you k?" Dante said, a rare, worried note edged into his voice. Lady watched observantly, as the elder put a hand on Nero's shoulder, the younger gasping as the pain slowly drained. Gradually, the kid stopped breathing so hard, his feet and legs shaking as he regained himself.

"You ok?" Dante asked again, patting Nero's back. But the younger winced at that, so Dante pulled his hand back down to his side.

"Yea…I'm fine. The sword…its-"

"Glowing." Lady finished for him.

She walked behind Nero, and surly enough, Yamato was alive with light, cutting through the shadows vividly. A kind of soft murmur escaped it, now and again tuning up and echoing around them, practically clanging against the wind's motion.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Lady murmured, more to herself than to them. Dante sniggered at her comment, approaching Nero's back, and reaching out his hand to whip his fingers across Yamato's metal.

"It's not a toy, Lady. S'not like its broke…"

He did not hesitate, but as his skin gently brushed the katana's handle, he pulled back almost immediately.

Lady noticed that he looked rather shocked, and she just couldn't help but smile. Dante…the cocky, invincible Dante? Rejected by the sword that should, rightfully, be his? Priceless…

She folded her arms across her chest, smirking slyly.

"Well, well…doesn't look like its too happy with you either, Dante. Care to tell us what's wrong with it?"

A kind of twisted, annoyed look embraced Dante's face at first, and for a split second, Lady was reminded of that time back in Temen-Ni-Gru…and Dante's twin came to mind.

She had seen that expression cross Vergil's face before, only far more intensely.

But then Dante whipped the exterior off his visage, and Lady was pulled back to the present. He was suddenly staring at her with that all too familiar sarcasm, his sapphire eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Fine then, smart-ass…" he jested, arching a brow. "I think Yamato is…calling for something, in a word. But I aint sure."

"Calling?" Nero sounded breathless, shrugging his shoulders painfully "For what? My early grave? Man, this damn sword has some problems…seriously, how can it be calling?"

"Yamato is not like any average blade, Nero." Lady informed "I'm sure you already know what kind of power it possesses, but-"

"You can say that again…"

"Let me finish. Yamato is not only the sword that Sparda used, but it is a key."

"Yea…"

"Remember what I told you at HQ kid, a long way back?" Dante butted in, knowing that Nero would understand the concept more if it came from him. "That sword is the key to the demon world, like Lady said. It was my brother's, and, well…that's kinda why he wanted it. He-"

He was interrupted as Lady's hand touched his torso gently, yet sternly.

"Never mind…" Dante sighed as he looked into Lady's face, and began to walk towards the castle again.

He knew Lady was right, for her very action had told him that she didn't think that telling Nero about their past, and Vergil's, would be a good idea. He would have to wait for a more appropriate time, or just not tell him at all.

Either way, informing Nero of Vergil's existence would not do them any good…they didn't need to dig up the past more than it had already been revealed.

And Dante did not think he could bear the memory, anyway.

Nero was trying hard.

He really was.

But he was running out of patience.

Upon entering Fortuna castle, Dante had decided that it would be best if they all split up, so that they could get their job done quickly. Lady had agreed, almost eagerly; only Nero had not been too happy about it. Mainly because Dante wasn't going by the real rules of 'split up', since he had demanded that Nero go with Lady.

This was the cause of one of Nero's signature problems.

Nero _hated_ working with other people. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with company, it was just that he liked things done his way, and his way only. He could only just about deal with Dante because he paid him. If it weren't for the money, Nero would never call him his boss.

He made his own rules, and Dante knew it. Which was probably why he had paired him up with Lady, just to piss him off.

Nero actually didn't mind Lady all that much, but all the same, he preferred his solitude. Still, she was a rather quiet person, who never really said anything other than that which was on her mind, and what was needed to be brought up.

He liked that about her a lot…it was a trait that he too shared with her…

But what he didn't like was the awkwardness. When he accompanied Dante on a mission, he didn't care much for conversation, since Dante would usually do all the talking, and that was fine by him. However, when it came down to Lady, he felt very nervous and flustered…

Nero had never really been in a women's presence before, other than Kyrie's and Trish's. Kyrie was a very rare type of girl; when she talked, she was purely pious and true, a good person with great virtues. She would never dare to utter a bitter remark, and Nero doubted she had ever cursed before in her life. She was, in a word, utterly good, and honestly easy-going, which really helped bring out Nero's shining confidence when he was around her.

And as for Trish…well, she was just Trish. A teasy, talky, jokie, and slightly moody woman; enough said.

But Lady was the total opposite of both. She was closed, and she never let anyone see her for what she truly was. She hardly ever said anything conversational, and she kept herself to herself, glued up like the many pieces of a jigsaw. Her own problems didn't bother him, but it was that coldness…that coldness that gave her silence a frozen edge.

She was so hard to understand as a person. On the rare occasions that she spoke to him, she would be almost kind and fair, allowing him to give his opinion. But then, once she had stated all that she needed to point out, that icy coffin would imprison her again, and every kind of emotion that she would allow to show on her surface would crawl back beneath her, laying dormant under her skin.

It was like this at the present moment. She and Nero were walking down a very suburban corridor, and silence seemed to be following them like a third companion.

Nero didn't even have to know her that well to understand that she had a problem with interaction. Maybe she had suffered through a rather hard past; either way he didn't know, but the awkwardness that consumed the air about them was driving him insane…

The sudden sound of a pistol cocking peeled against his ears, and he woke from his pondering immediately.

Lady had one of her gun's in her left hand, facing a corner that rounded the corridor.

"What's wrong?" Nero asked, but he didn't really need to. His demon arm was tingling, and as he gazed down at it, he saw that it was softly glowing. That told him that something was wrong, for sure.

"Demons…" Lady crafted all of his suspicions into one word. "I'll take care of them, there wont be many. Stay here."

Nero had to double take at that, blinking stupidly. Had he heard her right?

"Wait, what?" he asked, extending his demonic arm a little in expression. However, he and Lady both noticed that his arm's brilliance was now even more vibrant…

"Stay here, Nero. Five minutes. It will be easier if I go alone…"

With that she ran, Nero's eyes adjusting in disbelief. What the hell happened to team work?

He considered going after her…

…but soon, her rapid footsteps became faint, and he realised that it was pointless to pursue.

He huffed, his platinum fringes billowing, breath making his hair fly. Calming the boiling temperance within him, he set himself down near a large window sill, gazing out at the night. The moon was at least a footstool lower in the sky than it had been earlier, and the stars had begun to dim.

He couldn't believe that she had stolen his slice of the action. And, what was more, she was completely underestimating him.

Yet another reason why he hated working with people…

He highly considered it, and the more his mind dwelled over her words, the angrier he became.

"_It will be easier if I go alone…"_

What the hell was that suppost to mean? That he wasn't capable? That she was better?

"Probably…" he murmured to himself, tapping his bored feet against the sleek, marble flooring.

Then again, did she know anything about him? Had Dante not told her?

He knew that he was no minor when it came to fighting. For heavens sake, it was he who had finished off Sanctus and his so-called saviour. Yes, Dante** had** helped…but still, he was the one that had suffered through it, and it was he who had delivered that final blow to Sanctus, with the aid of Yamato…

Speaking of Yamato, he wondered how it looked now. Whether or not it was still glowing.

Standing up from his sitting posture near the sill, he turned his head around to the glass, prying upon the dark reflection of his back. Yamato, however, brightened up the darkly cut image. It was indeed still alive with brilliance.

He sighed, rubbing the side of his head as he hesitated. He wanted to touch the sword, but the pain that had shot through him earlier had been almost unbearable.

Curiosity crept up on him though, and eventually got the better of him. He carefully moved his demonic hand to his back, making sure to grab the katana's casing, and not the sword itself. His fingers slowly entwined around the sheath, tentative as he pulled it off his back. He let out a relieved breath as he felt it touch his palm; luckily the casing protected him from the radiating heat.

Sitting down again, he placed the sheathed sword on his knee, propping the handle away from his skin.

It was very strange…how just one piece of metal, shaped into a pretty design, could conjure up such admiration within him. Of course, it was more than just any ordinary sword; but still, it had this kind of vibe that followed it wherever it went, and Nero honestly felt as though it gave him strength. Not just strength as in power; but pure, heroic, inward strength. The kind of raw emotion that really urged him on, and made him want to succeed in everything that he did.

"You sure are beautiful…" he whispered to the katana, as though it could listen, stroking his blue, demonic fingertips across the sheath.

He never expected the looming darkness to answer his statement…

"…A true work of art."

He jumped and gasped, but the sword seemed to share his shock too. For it suddenly exploded with light, the sheath unable to contain the glow that escaped it. Yet with light came fire…and in a second, he was prone to that horrid, lurid pain once again, writhing through his body, quaking the boundaries of his mind.

Nero felt himself fall, heard his limbs crash…but it was almost like he was just watching himself suffer from above. Like his very soul had been ripped apart from his body, as though his conscious now had its own twin.

Yamato left his hands, clattering to the ground and echoing throughout the corridor.

He heard himself scream, and scream…but it didn't matter anymore. Even though the pain was unbearable, sickening, revolting, intense…it really didn't matter.

What mattered were those footsteps. Approaching him. Advancing towards him. So composed, so totally calm, yet, they reverberated like thunder in his head, washing away all essence of realism.

They were now so close…so close…and then a hand appeared, snaking from above, and gently closed around the katana.

As soon as Yamato was captured, it all ceased.

Everything.

He could hear. Though he was so numb that he would not even have felt a bullet pierce his chest.

And, he could see.

But he didn't want to.

The young Nero, so lowly sprawled on the floor, could see those feet. Feet that were clad in boots, that had made such a maddening sound as they had approached him. Gradually, his gaze travelled upwards, climbing and climbing, before his eyes clasped upon a very familiar face.

A pair of sulphuric blue orbs much like his own, met his stare. White, alabaster skin quilted the man standing above him; of apparently perfect proportions. His hair, which was also similar to Nero's, was luminously silvery, pulled back behind his fore. And a long, sapphire coat hugged his shoulders, floating about his feet due to its length. In his left hand, the apparent amazing figure held the katana, Yamato, as though it were his own. The sword had ceased to shine, and it seemed that it was now at serenity with the world.

It was Dante…he was sure that it was Dante…it had to be, for he was identical to the elder. Except for the expression that was.

"D-Dante?" he whimpered, mentally slapping himself for sounding so weak.

The replica of Dante gazed at him, but his expression did not change. He answered strangely, in a manner that Nero did not understand.

"Never…" said the stranger.

Nero could feel himself trembling, and deep down, he knew that it would be futile to resist. He now understood why the sword had plighted; this man, this embodiment of a far more inhumane Dante, was its rightful owner.

Dante's words came to mind…

_It was originally my brother's…_

He carved the same syllables from his own lips, his heart impaled with the shock of the realisation.

"B-brother?" he stuttered, unaware of just how little sense he made.

The stranger blinked once, before he stated, coldly and fluently:

"A long time ago…but, no more."


	4. Relatives

Darkness grasped him tightly, like an immovable, tight hand. Light seemed to be a far, distant memory now. It was like he was in a tunnel, and a flicker of hope could be seen at the end of that dense darkness. But the faster he tried to run at it, the less tangible that hopeful brilliance became, disintegrating into ash.

Twilight…it was everywhere, consuming him, taking him, engulfing his heart in woe and pain. He could feel his soul burning, hellish fires charring and smouldering his very core.

He was screaming and praying all at the same time. He couldn't really think properly, and he didn't know why. It was like hitting an invincible brick wall over and over again, and not one piece of stone fell apart, no matter how hard he punched or flailed.

And then, slowly, reality broke through his blurred senses. Gradually he could see, and his screams became lesser and lesser…before he realised that in actually fact it was the silence that was crying out.

Of their own accord, Nero's eyelids flickered, rested, fluttered again, recuperated, and then finally crept ajar.

_Was that a man…standing above him? Was he laying down? It felt that way…but that figure, standing there. Looking down on him…watching him. He was positive there was someone present…_

_Or was it the shadows playing mere tricks on his weak eyes?_

He couldn't tell, and in an effort to reach a point of understanding, a physical point, he attempted to push himself up.

He screamed.

His back jarred, and his spine felt as though every vertebrate had just broken into pebble-sized pieces.

He gasped, harshly, though the air wasn't helping. His eyes widened too, as **that** man's face came into view…leaning down near him, close.

The Dante replica.

"Do not try to move. It will only hurt more. Your immobilised. Lay still."

Those four simple statements made him shiver horribly, the worst of them concerning immobility. His instinct was screaming at him, roaring…wanting him to get the hell out of there.

But his limbs hurt something terrible.

So instead, he did the thing which he dread the most.

He looked up, and took in that man's presence. Stared back at those eyes. Those silent yet vengeful eyes. The very feel of that heated connection…those eyes told a thousand lies, yet a million truths.

And he was so, so frightened. It was unreal.

"W-who are you? Mm…" he let his eyelids hug his cheek bones, the pain stitching up his will of speech. "What do you want?" he whispered.

He was delirious…thus, Sparda could understand just how stupid his questions were. How human they were…

"Dante's relative." Sparda replied, a snarl. "Vergil."

"Vergil…" Nero breathed, eyes still closed, intoxicated by agony. "W-what am I doing here…?"

"You passed out…apparently the power you possess hit an irrevocable force." Vergil said, lowly, and this time Nero watched the Sparda brother as he walked away from the place where he lay, hands behind his back, gripping his recovered Katana.

Power? Nero didn't understand, and he feared having to ask. But it seemed that Vergil already understood that the young man had a million questions circling his mind with no end, and so he turned around to face him from his now comfortable distance.

Nero scanned his face, but he saw nothing.

No emotion.

It was like looking at a statue, and he almost yelped when Vergil spoke, since it was so hard to determine when the Sparda brother were about to take action. He was far too glacial.

But his voice…how was it possible? For someone who looked so irresistibly beautiful to sound so undeniably cold?

And yet, the question remained…

Was this man a threat to him?

Certainly…

"It seems that my sword activated a power within you the day it came to be in your hand. Since then some of my own power and my father's, which is permanently engraved within the blade, etched itself into your soul. Last night, my sword rebelled against you, knowing that I hold the power that shall bring forth its true potential…it disowned you to return to me. However, it seems that our power is greatly alike, therefore the only way the blade could unbind itself from you was by causing you pain…ripping itself out of your system, and taking the remnants with it."

Nero only blinked. All of those fine words held no meaning to him, and he was deathly afraid of Vergil's demeanour.

"D-does that mean…?" he began, but Vergil finished.

"…You have no power anymore. Look at your arm. From now on, you are merely human."

And in that moment, Nero's jaw dropped down in pure shock. His arm…the demonic shape was still there, the scales and all. But it ceased to glow. He felt no kind of rush snake through his blood as he tried to call on the devil bringer.

It seemed justifiable to say that it wasn't a devil bringer anymore.

It was just a strange arm. A shell of what it used to be. A useless trophy.

Nero could only yell, holding his demonic arm in his human palm, gaping.

"What…what happened?" he sounded like a child, but he was too distraught to care.

"The power that resided within your arm is now a part of my sword." Vergil said, a bored note gripping his voice. "And it shall stay that way…" he stared down upon his Katana, studying it. "…destiny has settled it."

Nero's eyes bounced in their sockets and his chest pumped when Yamato's metallic song rung in his ears. He looked away from his pointless demonic arm, colour draining itself from his cheeks as he set his gaze on Vergil.

The cold man approached, Yamato held lowly in his hand, yet all the same, threateningly.

Nero had half a mind to beg for his life. He was defenceless; even his arm, his permanent weapon, had been taken away from him. It was now exactly the same as his human arm, only different in appearance.

He tried to move back, sliding on the floor beneath him. But it was like fear was pinning him down; bonding him.

His courage had drained. Yet, as Vergil approached, sword in sealed hand, he tried his hardest to accept fate. He didn't want to beg, he'd rather just die quietly.

No,…no, he would never beg.

But the blood that was brewing like a storm in his brain and taunting the pump of his heart seemed to make him consider otherwise.

He couldn't react upon impulse. Fight or flight were not given options in this situation. He had no other choice…

"S-stop!" Nero almost cried, arm extended in denial.

Why was he so afraid? He was never afraid! Of **anything**!

But it was Vergil. He had an effect, a hold over him. A terrifying one. And now that Nero knew he was nothing more than human, no stronger or weaker than an other man, he felt extremely threatened.

Still, Vergil came at him. Advancing without hesitance, the characterization of his eyes showing Nero that he would gain no mercy. No advantage.

He was doomed.

With a lightning strike, Vergil grabbed the boy's collar, making him scream as his pained body was pulled up high. With one careless attempt, the icy man threw him back onto the ground, hard and far.

The cry that escaped Nero _almost_ made him smile.

"Be quiet. No one can hear you scream in here..." Vergil warned, slowly advancing. This boy...how he squirmed...it was so entertaining...

He stepped towards him, calmly, his feet collected and sturdy. Slowly, he sheathed the Katana, no longer wielding the empty threat. The boy noticed and sighed with what might be called relief. Not that Vergil cared.

He wanted to use this advantage. This boy…this pathetic, young boy…he knew that deep down, Dante cared for him. The boy was like the younger brother that Dante never had. He knew that his twin kept the young man securely under his wing; even if the boy knew how to handle himself, he was no match for him. He should, rightfully, just kill him and be done with it…

But, then again, the young male was only a minor. His heart was still soft and mouldable. Still able to be manipulated. Easily.

It would take more time than his patience had to offer though: the young man, scared as he was, seemed to be quite strong minded. He was not much of a challenge for Vergil really, however, time was an essential.

And it seemed that he would need it in order to bend the young man's will.

Time was something he didn't have to spare, but this could be worth his while. And so, Vergil decided to pursue this grand opportunity.

Standing above Nero, looking down on him, he opened his mouth and asked an unsuspected question.

"How are you related to Sparda?" he sounded rather shallow, almost deep.

Nero stared up with apprehensive pupils, a smudged look of dread and confusion painted near the iris's. He didn't know how to answer; he could barely remember who Sparda was. Though Sanctus's words came to him, a memory from that horrible day when he had watched Kyrie slip away.

_You have indeed inherited Sparda's power…_

And there had been another occasion too, something about his blood and the Saviour, but he couldn't recall.

"I-I don't know…" Nero winced through the pain, the now dead fingers of his demonic hand gently entwining around his throbbing human arm.

The elder Sparda could only blink, his lips meeting together to make a dead line. He hated to think that this brat was related to him, loathed to even consider sharing the same blood as him. Not only was the boy useless, but he was an abomination. His beautiful looks and incredible eyes could not fool Vergil, for that arm was still **there**. That told him that the young man was unlike others, and though Vergil himself was tainted with both human and demonic blood, he was no hybrid. Or rather, Vergil was a hybrid, but on the inside. This boy differed; his demnic trait was there for everyone to see, which meant everybody knew that he was a...what would be a nice term for him to use? **Monster. **Vergil's power remained on the inside, and he shared his abilities with his sword. And he thought himself to be far purer than this stupid boy.

"No matter. We are far from similar anyhow…" Vergil pretended to be dismissive. But truthfully he wanted to know how he and the boy were related; there had to be a connection. Yamato had shown him that it was true, the shining light that it had shed was more than just a call.

Either way, now was not the time to show emotion nor curiosity. Vergil had a plan to carry out, the young man would have to wait.

The elder Sparda turned on his heel, Yamato placidly held behind his back, and approached a steel door at the far end of the chamber where he had dragged the boy.

"W-wait!" he heard the young man faintly call, but did not turn. He opened up the heavy door, walked through, and then allowed its weight to shut itself without his help.

Alone, he walked through the hallowed hall, only giving the boy one thought.

He would have to start learning his place.

From now on, he was Vergil's slave. He would do as he were told, or Vergil would simply kill him. And on an important note; he would only speak when spoken to.

Vergil _despised_ that about the brat. He was just like Dante, he **always** asked questions. He had only tolerated it this time since the young man was confused, but if he taunted a nerve again, Vergil would be quick to slit his throat.

And he would only give the young man **one** chance to prove himself, **only one**.

But not tonight. Tonight was Vergil's night. The only other thing he considered as he walked on steadfast through the hall was the fact that he could not stay in Fortuna Castle forever…

Only until Lady left…

The bullet slammed into the wall at an angle, singing sharply as it changed en route and bounced off the stone, towards the window. The stained-glass shattered and screamed, before silence haunted Lady's air.

Blast that fucking demon!

_Piece of shit…_ Lady thought to herself, determination willing her to keep her lips sealed. This was a bad time to give herself away.

It was a big-ass demon, huge and so very elusive. She had managed to shoot the scarecrow demons down like wheat, but this baby just didn't want to be caught.

It had some strange abilities too; differing from electrical attacks too breakneck speed.

Its only weakness was its voice. Because, damn, when the thing appeared from out of its hiding places, it made one hell of a noise that let Lady's tentative ears know _exactly_ where it was.

With two black modernised guns levelled up near her face she waited patiently.

"I got all the time in the world, sweetheart. Bring it on…" she whispered under her breath, hot from her lips. And as if on q, she heard the familiar sound of a deafening scream break close boundaries behind her.

And there it was, the foul beast. Disgustingly huge, carnivorous teeth and scaly skin.

She immediately wheeled, two gun's fired up to reap havoc. Her fingers twitched left and right, exchanging from each trigger as she ran backward, the vile beast gaining ground while ignoring the bullets that were penetrating its torso like daggers. Its teeth clasped like an Alsatian, saliva dripping from its horrid mouth. Lady sensed the wall behind her, counting steps. The monster must have realised it too, for it suddenly charged, cried, and jumped for her all at once. But it made no difference as Lady leaped high, flipped, landed one secure foot on the wall and then allowed her body to catapult. She didn't stop shooting, hell, she wouldn't dare. Though, as she landed in a cat-crouch near the opposite end of the corridor, she noticed that the echoing screams of the beast ceased.

Gradually, she arose, guns high and waiting. It had gone again…

"Ok…I'm all for games." Lady sighed, breathing upwards so that her ebony bangs crept aside from her view. The shades were not really helping in such a dark place. But she would much rather have them on than off.

Her heterochromatic eyes could stay hidden. She didn't really like there rarity, if you could call it that.

She suddenly growled when that manic sound reached her again, and for a moment, she didn't know where the hell she was aiming. The sound seemed to echo, making Lady pull her arms apart so that she was posed like an aeroplane, turning in a fast circle as she fired with all her might.

She continued, the scream growing louder and louder, yet, shrouded in invisibility.

"Where the hell are you, you son of a-?" she yelled over the banging bullets, but then, stopped.

Suddenly. It just appeared. As though it were inevitably planned.

The beast, the demon, was dead. And it was not she who had ended its life. She hadn't even touched it.

Yet there it lay at her feet, a slow pool of blood growing near her toes, crimson wastes sliding from its now open stomach.

Lady stepped back, surprised. Not shocked, just surprised. But still, taken aback.

Had it killed itself? She wasn't sure, but she doubted it would have resorted to self-destruction. Then again, there was no other explanation…

"Ugh…whatever…" Lady pouted, placing her guns in their holsters. Honestly, she was too damn tired to care. And the demon had been such a strange thing anyway, she supposed that it wasn't so peculiar that it had topped itself. Maybe it had been just as tired as she was? No, that was stupid.

The wicked never rest. She knew that well.

Usually Lady would have been much more open to interpretation. But weariness had taken its toll on her, and she just didn't have the strength to think. Although thinking was usually her job while she was with Dante; she was the smart one. But, in this situation, the death of a beast that's life had expired for an unknown reason did not challenge any interest within her. She would've just killed it anyway.

And she had bigger problems.

She had told Nero she would be five minutes. Well, five minutes had long gone…it was more like an hour by now.

Preparing herself for the leave, Lady pushed her shades further up her nose and straightened out her jacket. She breathed a little, but half way through her lungs recuperation, she stopped.

_The sound of singing metal…a song of death. Ringing through the shadows, she looked to the side. The dead air in her mouth almost made her choke, but she held it in. But the sight…the sight was unbelievable. She was dreaming…it had to be a dream._

_No, not a dream._

_A nightmare._

_**He,…he was standing there.**_

_**That man.**_

_She could not breath, no matter how hard she tried._

_**Staring at her.**_

_He could not catch her eye's light due to those modern spectacles. But he wanted to…eyes were the windows of the soul, and he wanted to look through those windows…understand what she was thinking._

Instinct screamed at her.

As Lady stepped back, he stepped forth. His Katana held tightly in his sword hand, splattered in blood. The blood of the demon.

Now, she understood.

It was **he **who had killed that demon. Yamato's magic, that's how he had slaughtered the beast. The power of the dark slayer.

"**Yamato. He has Yamato. Nero!"**

The voices running amok in her head were numbing, but that one protested the loudest. Two, actually.

The one that was telling her that Nero was in danger.

And the one that was willing her to run away.

But she couldn't. She could only continue to step back, and he continued to comply by stepping forward, spinning his blade gently first before flicking it to the side harshly, the blood that splattered the metal abandoning the sword to lay on the ground. He sheathed his lethal beauty, and then advanced again.

"Good evening. Nice night." muttered the glacial figure, no hint of a smile, not even a cold one, twitching over his lips.

It was there, then, that his voice brought her back from dream to blunt reality. Lady immediately ignited, and this time she didn't reach for her two guns. With speed that even he did not believe she could muster for a little human, she swung Kalina Ann by its strap, holding it securely in her arms. Its huge mouth was aiming strait for him, but he didn't stop his pace. He didn't quicken nor hasten.

He continued to stride.

Slowly.

"Stop joking with me, Dante! That's not funny!" the young woman half snarled, half cried, the panic apparent in her voice.

She actually thought that he was Dante? Dante, dressed up to look like him?

Even he knew that Dante would not stoop so low…then again, the worry in her yell told him that she was suspicious.

He walked on towards her, entertained as she continued to back up, embracing Kalina Ann tighter, if it were possible. She kept slipping over her feet, tripping now, as unsteady as a new born foal. He heard the huge bazooka cock, but it didn't bother him.

She would never pull that trigger…_never_.

The wall pushed up against her back, her feet still shuffling somewhat before she realised that there was no where to go.

He followed, leaning in _close_. Too close for Lady's liking.

She quickly pulled the mouth of the huge gun up, hoisting it near her shoulder, the dangerous mouth directed strait at his face.

But he didn't flinch.

"Step back, demon." she hissed at him viciously.

"Am I not Dante?" he asked, a little coaxing whisper. He heard her breath catch before she shifted the bazooka forward. He did nothing.

"I don't care who you are! Back off!" she snarled with acidic disgust, and she almost chocked when he actually complied.

He stepped back; one step, two step, three step.

Hastily she scrambled away from the wall, Kalina Ann not even lowering by a fraction.

She eyed the corridor behind her, apprehensively, but still refused to leave him be.

"V-Vergil…" she whispered, soundly strangely awe stricken.

He only nodded.

She stood there a moment, frozen. He believed that she was blinking, but those shades were in the way of his view.

"What did you do to Nero, Vergil?" her voice trembled this time as she spoke.

He had forgotten that the boy had a name. More importantly, she still remembered his.

He only smiled, or leered, Lady could not tell. The moonlight was in the way, shining down through the broken gap that used to be a window above him.

She looked back again at the corridor behind her, nervous.

It was odd. He could practically hear her heart beating, but it would be so much better if he could actually feel the real thing thumping in unity with his. Her chest hot against his own.

It made him weak. It really did, the mere thought. And he hated himself for it, but God, he really did dream about it, night and day.

He noticed her look back and fourth, from him to the passage.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, touching the handle of Yamato out of boredom. She saw this as a sign though, and held Kalina Ann closer, so he let his fingers gently slip away from the blade.

"Go." he said, nodding to the passage behind her. Though he stated it flatly and sternly, human as she was, she took it as an opening for a challenge.

"I'm not leaving without Nero! Where is he?"

"Leave and you may have him."

"Why the hell wont you hand him over now? What have you done to him?"

Silence…

"…you ask to many questions." he muttered, incoherently. And he walked away, leaving her to stew.

She could easily have shot him there and then, as she gasped, watching him leave.

But…just like Vergil had told himself, she **never** would.

"And Mary…" he said, turning to face her again. He noticed the immobility of her lush lips, the tight hold on the gun.

_How **dare** he utter the syllables of her name..._

"Tell Dante…I say 'hello'."


	5. Legacy

"Dante…you** have** to believe me!"

"No…"

"But he was there! He spoke to me, practically touched me! He confessed that he had Nero captive, straight from the horse's mouth!"

"No…it was that demon…an elusive demon…"

Her nerve-stimulated fist pounded the table, leaving a large dent in the wood's surface, yet failing to surprise the hunter set behind it.

By now, Lady was beginning to lose her temper.

Trying to send a message through Dante's thick skull was like trying to equally measure out water in order to match the thickness of blood.

In other words, almost impossible.

"Dante! What the hell's wrong with you? You saw him too, remember? In the arch, the doorway of Fortuna castle! I know you saw him Dante, and by God you've got to realise it and except it! Do you know what he could do to Nero? What he **would** do to Nero?"

Suddenly, Dante was up, he too slamming a fist into his desk. A much harder one. A startled Lady had to step back, before finding her rage again.

This had gone on long enough in Dante's book. Of course he accepted that Nero was in danger, and that they had to find him as soon as possible. But the facts that Lady kept insinuating were completely and utterly preposterous…not to mention, she had a nerve for bringing his dead sibling into this.

Did she not understand? He hated having to recall the past…he despised thinking of Vergil. It meant that Dante was forced to backtrack along the path of his sins, and that of all things, was the only piece of Dante's life that brought him fear.

So no…he would not take her words into account. She could go to hell.

"Lady!" Dante yelled, as though he was calling out to her. Like he couldn't believe that the persona on the surface of this woman was Lady at all; like she was buried underneath, and if he asked her to come out, she might just step fourth and not bring Vergil up again. "Ima say this once…and only once. Vergil is dead. Gone. And if there is an essence of him left, well, its in hell. And any remains of him will stay there, ok? And don't tell me that I'm wrong, cos I'm not."

Sighing, she regrouped. Dante almost growled, watching the clogs in her brain ticking. He knew that she was ready to go again…ready to prove him wrong. Pounce on him like a bloody hungry lioness.

Seriously, he believed that she should have been a lawyer…and if it was not for her bastard farther, she probably would have ended up with a more sophisticated job.

"Look, Dante…" she started lowly, dipping her head towards the ground. "I respect the fact that you find it hard to…let go…" she sighed, heavily "…but I know what I saw, and I remember who I talk to, ok. Especially those that are supposed dead."

"Ah, to hell with this!" Her eyes widened a little when he suddenly yelled and flipped the table over. The phone went flying, as did a box of decayed pizza.

Lady gaped, stepping back again. She could see it now…see his emotion properly. And by God, Dante was indeed livid. She'd never seen him like this before. _**Never. **_His eyes were burning, full of fire and anguish. His lips had met together in a furious stitch, and his brows were bent downwards, his fists quivering with tight nerves as he clenched them into obscenely tight balls.

"You mention him in context again…" his voice, a lethal whisper "you even say his name, I swear on his fucking deceased soul, you'll leave this place…and you wont **ever **come back."

A defeated Lady looked down, eyes a mix of fury and frustration.

"Fine…I'm sorry." she said, quietly.

He didn't say anything to acknowledge her apology. He didn't even mutter 'good' or 'fine'. And in Lady's opinion, that was one of the most hurtful things he could have done to her…not appreciate her opinion, nor her yield to his anger.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, charged up the stairs, and slammed the door to his room as he fled her presence to meet privacy.

All that was left for Lady was silence.

She felt odd now. Somewhat heavy, and as she stood, blinking at the ground, that feeling grew stronger…like it was tying her down.

Guilt. She felt guilty.

But why?

Guilty because her words had wounded Dante. Guilty because they had left Nero behind…after all, if she had not ran off to murder that demon, well, he'd probably still be with them.

But she knew she was right about this current dilemma…it should have been Dante apologizing to her. He should, rightfully, be graveling. He didn't believe her. And, what was more, he would rather have her out of his life, than have to unwrap the memory of Vergil safely tucked away in the back of his mind.

"Why?" she whispered inwardly. She didn't understand it. Vergil had done Dante no good whatsoever. No good at all; not in the past, and he certainty never would in the future.

But that thought did prod at her curiosity. Now that Vergil had returned, which he _had_, what plans did he have for Dante? More importantly, Nero?

She still couldn't believe that they had left him there. In that castle. It terrified her, it really did. She knew well that Vergil would never show kindness or any consideration towards the boy. She imagined that Vergil just saw him as a pathetic little child, no use to him and no use to the world. Her plea to save Nero had not been heard by Dante however; when he stated that they needed to leave the castle, she had begged and begged, screamed at him that they could not just leave him behind. But Dante had heard none of it…all he kept saying was that the place reeked of demon, and if they didn't leave, they would be swarmed by the damned. And even when he mentioned Nero, all he had muttered was 'kid can look after himself'.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Perhaps if she had told him at the time that Nero was now a prisoner of his twin's wrath, maybe he would have reacted…maybe. But foolishly, and she was kicking herself for it now, she had not mentioned Vergil whatsoever. She had felt that the matter was too sensitive for her to approach in such a situation, and so, she had kept her mouth clamped shut…and had watched sorrowfully, as they sped away from the scene on Nero's bike, her arms rapped around Dante as she gazed at the gothic building…until it was out of sight, and out of reach.

Ever since, she had pondered to herself quietly…was Fortuna castle now the tomb of that beautiful boy's corpse?

She scolded herself for even considering it.

After all, here she was…safe. While Nero could be anywhere, dead in a ditch or even shackled to some wall. It sickened her very logic; what with her constant beliefs that all men and women, when innocent and pure of heart, should not be neglected by their fellow humans. But what had she and Dante done? Left that boy for evil to claim…left him to the mercy of that son of a bitch.

"No offence to Eva Sparda…" she whispered discreetly under her breath, holding in a scowl.

But that suppressed expression meant something…

If Dante refused to accept that after a three day absence Nero could be in danger…well then, that meant he would be of no use to her.

She would have to go back and track him down. Alone.

Inhaling and then exhaling, she snapped her line of vision towards the door, and only leaving behind the bitter thoughts of Dante's denial, she walked through Devil May Cry's front door, hoisting Kalina Ann higher onto her back.

"You say nothing. You only speak when spoken to, and if you draw attention to yourself when not addressed, you shall not only suffer my consequences…but hers, too."

Nero's nerves unwound as Vergil released the tight hold on his arm. He still had a numbing bruise there, along with many others decorating his body in dark and navy shadows.

Vergil had not been particularly kind with him. He had handled the teen harshly; pulling him along if he was too slow, encouraging him to obey by throwing him about if irritated, and hissing at him vividly when angered.

And now, finally, Vergil had tamed the fire…successfully managing to tie puppeteer strings to his slave. The boy now listened to his every whim.

And so, here they were…having left Fortuna Castle, now in a city.

A murmur of incoherent music and laughing seeped through the walls of a club, reaching the back-alley outside where they were standing. There was no bouncer awaiting their admittance, not like the time when Vergil had entered alone, and Nero could not help but wonder why on earth they were in such a civilised place.

Nero was blatantly aware of how much Vergil hated him…the youth did not have to pursue the matter, nor ask.

So, why had he brought him here? To speak with some woman was all that Nero knew…but still, why a club?

Though Nero was not complaining. It was a far less daunting setting compared to Fortuna castle.

But he dare not ask Vergil anything. He dare not even utter a word, for fear of Vergil's wrath.

The elder quietly walked to a brown door ahead, and opened it with a soft push…so gently that it came as a surprise to Nero.

He had forgotten that this man was not all mite. The icy demeanour about him was so thick that it was almost tangible, so Nero would often consider him to be immortal. Not that he knew better…maybe Vergil was invincible. He certainly gave off that impression.

The silver-haired man turned his body towards Nero's direction, but his eyes did not even look upon the teen.

"Come." he beckoned, and Nero listened. Like a dog obeying its master.

Vergil held the door open for him, and as soon as a cringing Nero passed by him, he released it, and allowed darkness to reclaim the oblique surroundings.

The teen tensed as that same elusiveness held onto him, or in another word, fear. Darkness was now like a symbol to him, an embodiment of what his life had become.

There had not been a second since Nero had been forced to accompany Vergil, not a second when he had not felt fear.

"Walk." Vergil's morbid voice commanded from behind, and with a little jolt, Nero put a foot into action. The other one shortly followed, as did the elder.

He couldn't really make out where he was going; all that he could see were the fickle shadows, picked out by a strange, seemingly glassy surface. Mixed with uneasiness and nerves, Nero's foot slipped as it landed for another step. The teen gasped as he felt his body plummet, a flash reflection of himself catching his eye. But a sudden hold on his arm stopped his fall, and he felt himself swivel as Vergil turned the teen around to face him.

"Do not be so careless. This corridor is made of glass, so unless you want permanent scars, I suggest you pull it together." He sneered during the last part, as though his words were some kind of spiteful, inside-joke and only he understood. Nero just gulped, holding in his voice as Vergil pushed him forwards, willing him to keep moving.

They continued in silence. Vergil, who had already been here before, saw nothing of interest within his surroundings. But Nero's clinging inquisitiveness wouldn't leave him be, and he found the ghostly reflections to be fascinating. He could see himself passing by through each glossy mirror, and the everlasting light given by Yamato, stuck to Vergil's side, had not ceased to shine. It helped Nero determine how close behind Vergil was, and it was only a foot. He could see the whites of his eyes, switching shades as they passed each portrait of solid reflection. He could tell that the elder was staring at the back of his head, for his pupils never moved or changed. It was only the blurred glimmer of the inner-moon's, centred near the irises that changed regularly…not Vergil's actual line of vision.

"Stop." Nero almost fell again when Vergil's voice barked at him suddenly. He came to a clumsy halt, whereas Vergil's was neat and graceful.

"Turn to the right. There shall be a door at the end."

The teen blinked for a moment, before instinct took over his mind and he tried to obey - but as he made his move, he heard Vergil sigh impatiently, and almost chocked when the elder pulled on his red hood.

"I said right, not left." the sinister man growled, thrusting Nero in the correct direction.

"Right…" Nero repeated under his breath, slightly embarrassed. He shut up though, for Vergil heard everything…and he didn't want to endure a stab. When your against someone who wields a sword like Yamato, especially if that enemy's a great swordsman…it is foolish to taunt fate. Nero knew it well.

Walking in an unsure, wobbly stride, Nero peered ahead. A vision slowly fitted together, his eyes gathering shards of an unknown scene. They neared, Nero was clearly able to see himself walking forwards, Vergil pursuing behind. Another mirror stood before them, but this one had a handle, so it was clearly a door. He stopped before the entrance, but Vergil was quick to command.

"Open it." he said flatly, and Nero, a little hesitantly, slipped a hand over the knob and let the door creep aside, light filtering through the opening.

They stepped inside, and Vergil threw the glacial door back into its frame.

Nero stood quietly, but internally intrigued. Once again, glass was the main source of material that structured the room. A large table made of the same transparent solid stood in the centre of the room, and in every corner there were beautiful, glossy angels. Most noticeably, the room was empty.

But Nero couldn't believe how utterly shiny this room was. Who the hell liked so much glass?

Someone completely vain, most certainly.

He jumped a little when he heard Vergil call out.

"Woman, I do not have all day…would you be so kind as to show yourself?"

At first nothing seemed to happen. But then, a quiet sound made itself audible, and something moved sulkily in the shadows near the back wall.

Nero's eyes widened, and he could feel his body bending a little, ready to fight should he need to. It did not help that he had no weapon.

And then, a light gust of sound made a soft murmur, before the glass moulded. The solid liquidised, and Nero's brow furrowed, whilst taking a step back.

"What the hell-?" he murmured under his breath, but Vergil silenced him with a grab to the shoulder. The elder did not flinch, he only kept his sight glued to the moving mirror, and just as predicted, the shape of a woman's body evolved through the glass, and a female stepped out. The mirror bounced back into shape, and Nero's eyes grew even wider.

"About time, demoness." Vergil snarled, and pushed Nero back as he walked forward.

The blond woman known as the 'Harlequin' among her kind rolled her eyes behind her diamante mask, hands planting themselves onto her voluptuous hips.

"Oh Vergil, what a cherish you are to the joys of life. Honestly, some human should include you in fairy tales."

He growled at that, wanting nothing more other than to smack the sarcasm out of her. Alas, it would come to no avail. She was, after all, immortal.

"I did not come here for your shallow jests. I came here so that you might inspect the boy…"

She put a hand to her lips thoughtfully, wondering.

"Boy?"

She had obviously failed to spy Nero in the back, and when she set eyes on him, she stepped back in surprise. Even Vergil was compelled to act with awe, as the woman before him removed her mask slowly, and her crystalline pupils came into view.

She looked amazed; like she had just seen something she could barley believe. She was not looking at Vergil, but behind him…at Nero.

Vergil turned, noticing that Nero was squinting, like he was questioning the Harlequin's interest.

"My…could it truly be?" she whispered, fingertips slipping over her perfect mouth. Vergil raised a brow as she walked towards the teen, the boy looking like he might have swallowed a large quantity of sand.

"I never thought I'd see the day…" she murmured, this time smiling, and she was suddenly right beside him. Nero let out a shudder as her unsuspecting hand slipped under his chin, pulling his head somewhat higher so she could inspect.

"What the hell are-?" Nero gaped in disbelief, his fire igniting at such handling. He wasn't some dog at a show, and he was growing tired of being treated like one.

She trickled a finger over his lips, silencing him.

"My, my, Vergil…where did you find such a beauty?"

The elder gritted his teeth, frustrated.

"I don't care about how he looks. I want to know who he is. He is related to me, I know it. My sword has shown me that it is true. I want you to tell me how he shares the same blood as Sparda. What is the connection?"

The woman hymned, considering Vergil's unresolved theory. She put her hand higher up Nero's face, trailing his cheek with a nail. The youth had half a mind to snap at her, but was wise enough to notice just how sharp those nails were.

"It is strange." she began. "He does indeed share your blood, and he was indeed able to handle a connection with Yamato due to this relation. Almost like the way Dante is able to control it…but somewhat differently. This boy has powers that are yet to awaken, talents hidden under the surface. Or rather, he did. You have taken that away from him, have you not, Vergil?" she turned to look at him, and Nero eyed him maliciously, though his face hid the emotion.

Vergil blinked, placing his hands behind his back. Even he noticed how harsh that sounded.

He nodded.

"Naughty ice man. That was very wrong of you…" she dared to mock, pouting her lips childishly.

"Get on with it…" he snarled.

"Well, he is no use to Sparda's legacy now, you've ruined it. You've made him completely human. You've lost him."

Those were strange words, Vergil could not help but think, and so he interrogated.

"Sparda's legacy? You must be mistaken, he is no son of Sparda. Me and Dante should be continuing our father's legacy, the boy has nothing to do with it."

The Harlequin smiled, placing a hand to Nero's shoulder. The youth in turn looked at her, full of misunderstanding.

"You have not given this enough thought, Vergil. Yes, you are correct, he is not your brother. However, he is the bearer of Sparda's legacy…his true power."

This seemed to hit a nerve, and Vergil's temple began to show.

"That is impossible…"

"No, it is not. You of all people should know not to be narrow-minded in such affairs, Vergil. Now, hear me, and hear me well. This boy, he is no natural blood relation of Sparda…he is, in a way, Sparda himself."

Vergil gaped for a moment in disbelief. No, this demoness was wrong…very wrong.

"Do you even know what you are saying-?"

"Yes, Vergil, I am aware. But what I say is true…this boy, he is born from man…but he is Sparda, reincarnated."

Both men seemed to jump at this, interrupting each other with questions. But the woman raised a hand to silence Vergil, and put her hand against Nero's mouth.

"Allow me to explain, gentleman…now, young one, do you know who your mother is?"

Nero blinked, a little torn from having to say no…his past was something he rarely spoke of.

"No."

"I thought not…you are an orphan, correct?"

He frowned, as did Vergil.

"Was."

"I see. Now, I can tell you the truth of your past. The power of knowledge has always been a strong point of mine…but do you truly wish me to tell it?"

Nero was left baffled at this, not knowing what to say. Vergil, on the other hand, seemed angered.

"Tell it, I do not care for his feelings." he growled, gripping Yamato tighter behind his back.

"It is not your choice." she retorted, white eyes inflaming.

"I want to know…" Nero suddenly butted, making the woman start, but smile.

"Very well. If you are sure…"

"Yes."

She smiled again, before patting his shoulder, and moving away from him to walk placidly as she began.

"Your mother was a subject of experimentation. She was taken in by a religious cult when they discovered that she was pregnant. She was a priestess, like Sparda's wife, however this cult believed that she had betrayed God by giving away her virginity. Of course, you were the result of the conceive, waiting in her womb. Since the cult saw her as impure they decided that they could use her for their tests. They injected her with a rare serum…which they continued to do, to no avail. Her blood did not show signs of change, and neither did your unborn self. But soon after, before your time of birth, they found their resolve. A high-class of demon, apparently from Temen-Ni-Gru, stumbled across them…and somehow, they discovered that this demon's blood was as pure as Sparda's himself. The demon was a strange species, a species that inhales and stores the blood of those it fights. Therefore, the poor beast must have fought Sparda in its time of life…perhaps when Sparda shut the hell gates, I do not know. But what I do know is that the cult separated every different type of blood that the demon had in its system, and eventually found Sparda's. They then injected your heavily pregnant mother with the blood, and due to her incapability to absorb demonic essence, they knew that you would. And when you were born…success. You were everything they were hoping for. A perfect clone of the dark knight himself. Besides your mother's human blood, which was almost non-existent by the time they were finished with her. Alas…" she turned to Vergil "the son of Sparda has destroyed the cult's efforts by stealing your power." She sounded most accusing.

It looked as though Vergil might actually be feeling guilt. But when a sudden, small smile graced his lips, it was obvious that he was not feeling regret. Besides, in Vergil's eyes this was not his fault. It was Yamato who had stripped the boy of his power, but still, he would not have cared either way.

_So…that means that my father's legacy now lives within me. Everything I have fought for, every attempt I have made against Dante, against humanity itself…it has finally paid off. I now have it…that which was rightfully mine in the first place. Just like that._

The demoness smiled at his thinking, and answered his inner statement.

"No, Vergil, you do not have all that you wished for. If you were truly destined to inherit everything your father had, do you not think you would have gained it by now?"

He paused, face breaking into moody confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You have everything that Sparda had. Strength, determination, and fire. But there is one thing you lack…and that is heart. You have no feelings; you are raw, cold and harsh. As long as you harbour this trait, you shall never walk in your father's footsteps. You are, in a word, far to demonic."

Vergil breathed heavily, for every word of her speech had ripped at his shard of small hope. He could feel himself boiling, rage taking over.

"Too demonic? My father came from hell, so how can you say he wasn't demonic?"

"Your father loved your mother; a human love. Something that I or any other demon could never do. It is against our very existence, but your father was able to feel. And that is his legacy…to be able to live with strength, but also, feelings. He wanted his sons to be more human, like your mother…Dante can feel, but his flaw is weakness."

"Cant disagree with you there…"

"Yes. But do you not see? This boy is the living embodiment of Sparda…why do you think he is able to love?"

Nero suddenly awoke.

"How do you know about Kyr-?"

"I know most things, young one, and you love that girl more than life itself…just like Sparda loved his jewel, Eva."

Vergil considered this. The boy had a love, yes, he knew that…but did that make him more like his father than he himself?

He…Sparda's own son?

But Vergil did feel. Not love, but he could feel. Of course it was hidden far below the surface of his morality, so deep that even the Harlequin could not see it.

But perhaps…

If he learnt to give into such emotions…

Nero's power, or rather his father's, could finally be his for the taking…then maybe, he could learn to keep a good hold of it.

But there was no one that Vergil loved. He had loved his mother fondly, and his father deeply…but they were gone. And as for Dante, well, he was a lost cause in Vergil's eyes. He was sure that he did not love his brother, not anymore at least. Or rather, he did not _think_ that he felt for Dante anymore.

Then _she_ walked into his head…

That girl…so strong, yet so unbeknownstly innocent, and determined.

So untainted, and different…

Vergil's head slowly moved up, and he let his hands fall from the dip of his back, to his sides.

"We must go. Back to the door, boy."

Nero seemed to hesitate a little, but was forced to turn as Vergil's hand grabbed his arm, yet again.

"Wait!" the young man yelled, pulling his weak, demonic arm from Vergil, making the elder frown. He turned to face the demoness again.

"Can you tell me…what happened to my mother? What did those bastards do to her?"

The demoness blinked, before her beautiful lips separated.

"She died immediately after giving birth to you."

He gazed at her gravely for a moment, before hopelessness took over his face, his hair falling down over his eyes as he tilted his head towards the ground.

"Sorrow not." the Harlequin reassured, though she sounded morbid. "It was for the best…if she had not died, they would only have killed her, and that would not have been kind. Not only would she have had to endure more pain, but she would have had to watch them take you away."

"Yea." Nero replied, swiping his nose with his hand. He was not crying, but it seemed like he wanted to.

"So what about my arm…?"

Her brows furrowed somewhat, for she did not know how to answer this.

"That is a question I have yet to find a resolve to. Your arm is a complex thing, and I can only guess that it is due to the opposing energy of demon and human within you…for now that your demonic heritage has departed from your body, your arm only boasts the shape of a demon's, but it has no power at all. That is all I can say, and it may not even be true."

Nero's eyes were like saucers by now, but Vergil had heard enough.

"Come!" he barked again, grabbing Nero and pulling him towards the door.

And as they left, Nero turned back, a view of the demoness meeting him one more time…and she caught his eye with a wink.

But an even bigger surprise was given to him, s Vergil suddenly threw him into the glass wall with such force that the mirror cracked, and Nero yelled.

In a flash, Yamato had left its sheath, now pressed hard against Nero's neck.

He gasped, but his mind told him to be brave. He growled into Vergil's face; the elder pinning him there with the weapon.

"Listen…because I have a plan." the elder said coldly, his mouth curling.

"Fuck you, I've had enough of-!"

But he was silenced as Vergil kneed him, the younger gasping for air to keep the pain at bay.

"I said listen. Now, you will return to Dante…and you will tell him _nothing_. He will not know about this, about what you have learnt today, not an ounce of information. And if you disobey me, I will walk into his shop, kill him, and kill you in the most painful way I think up…but not before I slaughter your lover."

A fearful look took Nero, and he began to shake. He knew that Vergil was not joking…not at all. And something told him that he could track Kyrie down easily; Dante had always been able to find Nero when it came to missions, and he was sure that Vergil could do the same. He could probably find anyone, no matter where. His determination was will enough.

"While your in Dante's company, you will do _everything _that I tell you…and you know the consequences if not. Understand?"

The younger blinked, and nodded again. Slowly, Vergil backed off with a smile.

"Good." he said, sheathing his katana. "Glad we've established that."


	6. Acceptance

The neon glow of the three-worded sign twinkled through the darkness, cutting shadow. Mixed with the light of the moon, the 'D' of the first word 'Devil' flashed now and again, joining blackness before shining vibrantly in red.

"Devil May Cry…" Vergil whispered under his breath, hardly audible.

He tensed.

_Intense._

That's what it was.

The mere feel of those three words rolling off his tongue. Every syllable living within the pure irony, the deepest depth the meaning the letters gave…it enraged him. That somehow, in Dante's vision, a devil could cry…

Vergil knew it be true, for even the Harlequin had boasted it. That Dante's persona was weak…and Vergil could even see, in his imagination, the tears imprisoning the past they had shared rolling down his _dear_ brother's cheeks. He imagined that his pathetic brother had cried every day since his _passing._

He suddenly rejoined the world when he heard a whimper from beside him.

"Dante…" the young voice of the male came out, an almost silent plea. As though he were calling to the hunter inside the nearby shop, begging him to hear…wanting to be saved so very badly.

Vergil glanced to his side, watching Nero's lips move in a condemning manner under the shadow concealing his face. He had ordered the young man to make use of that red hood after they had left the Harlequin, and of course, he had complied. The cloth now slept on his head, hiding him from the few onlookers they had come across as they ventured through Fortuna, until they had finally left the city behind them and were now standing outside their destination; Dante's agency.

Vergil found it deathly disturbing…he could not accept the truth. Then again, he had not tried to. But it just seemed too unreal, otherworldly. It was near impossible to believe that _this_ boy…_this pathetic, worthless, __**humane**_ male was, in fact, based upon the memory of his father; that the young one's existence actually had no larger purpose other than to embody Sparda.

Pitiful, really.

Without a word of warning, the elder shifted his arm up, grabbing Nero's crimson hood quickly before pulling it back to reveal his face. The boy gasped in surprise, then he growled, brow furrowing due to the dug-up contempt he felt for Vergil…his eyes were practically burning into the elder, besides the fact that he looked disturbed on the surface.

Unfazed, Vergil's expression hardened, before he slowly shifted a hand to the blade strapped to his back. He unlatched the Red Queen from the hold there, handing it over to Nero, who passed him an odd expression.

"Why are-?" the young one began, his eyes becoming huge, but Vergil interrupted with icy sharpness; a razor tone that ripped the boys words apart from each other, condemning them to die in the air.

"Oh, please. Even you cannot be so dim…Dante will notice if you do not have your weapons with you." he explained, flicking the Blue Rose revolver out of his coat as he went. He had confiscated the young one's weapons back at Fortuna Castle without his knowing. "He shall want to know what has happened to your arms. So here…" he handed him the Blue Rose, not interested in the gun. Nero took it timidly, blinking with awe. He noticed that Vergil had paused though, so he shifted his sight over to the elder, surprised by his thoughtful yet interested glare. He was eyeing Nero's sword carefully, moving his wrist with the motion of the handle's spin, gently.

The icy man twisted the Red Queen's handle, the device rumbling lowly as the fuel pumped through the injection system. His eyes seemed to light up at that, mouth creeping open to speak, yet with oblique intentions.

"Where did you get this?" he mumbled lowly, raising the weapon higher to examine with the aid of the moon's brilliance beating down upon its metal, giving it a polish.

"I…" Nero cleared his throat, nervous. It was not like Vergil to show enthusiasm in him or his possessions; Nero had been with him long enough to know that now. "…this order I work for gave me the blade, but I customized it with the device…helps with power and acceleration against speedy enemies." he practically whispered, but still, Vergil distinctively caught every word.

"I imagine…" he mused, flicking the blade again. "She seems to be very balanced for such a hefty looking thing…light. Not the most appealing piece, but still, useful. The ignition deals damage, I assume, and the metal itself is not of the best quality…still, you have obviously enhanced it by sharpening. The scratches embedded within tell me you are reckless, however…"

He stopped, his mouth dry. He was not meant to say all that, mainly because those words had just been running thoughts, accidentally spoken aloud. And although Nero was not looking at him, he knew that the boy was wondering what on earth had just gotten into his captor.

So Vergil cleared his throat, pushing the Red Queen towards Nero to take. He scolded himself for talking, for he knew that it had been a mistake. It had shown the boy that Vergil had interests; fascinations. That he did have some human traits left in him…

He swore that he would not make that mistake again. Mistakes were not meant for him; flaws are for those with a conscious.

But Vergil knew that could not last long, for if he were to be more like Sparda, he would have to learn to accept a conscious, but even so, he would still fight to keep those imperfections at bay.

"What about Yamato?" Nero's words penetrated his thoughts suddenly, making him frown, but he immediately understood what the boy meant. He clutched Yamato tightly with one hand, like a father protecting his child.

"I have been apart from my sword for far too long, and I have no intentions of giving it back."

"But, won't Dante wonder-"

"Let him." Vergil interrupted with a snap, silencing Nero quickly, like an axe to the neck. "If he asks, then you shall tell him you were attacked in Fortuna, you fell unconscious, and when you awoke the sword was gone. Simple and bordering on truth." he added at the end, a deviant whisper. Gazing up he caught sight of the full moon before turning back to Nero. "Now, repeat back to me what you will do, but will not say."

Taking in a deep breath, Nero began, fighting back tears…

"I…I must not tell Dante that I have met you or seen you under any circumstances…"

_Yes, because that__'__s Lady__'__s job__…_ thought Vergil, in-between Nero's words.

"…and tomorrow night…" the boy took a fighting breath, finding it hard to maintain composure. "I-I ask Lady if she…she'll take a walk with me….and I…"

"Bring her to me." Vergil finished a cracking growl of hunger.

Nero only nodded as a response. He had been consumed by guilt ever since Vergil had conveyed the plan to him, and it only seemed to be getting worse…if Dante ever knew…oh, Nero did not even want to think about it, and he had not even carried out Vergil's cruel plan yet.

And Lady…Lady would suffer _because of him. His cowardly surrender._

"Go now…" Vergil stated clearly, and with a strangled gasp, Nero walked up the steps of Devil May Cry, opening and entering one of the double-doors without a guilty glance backward.

Vergil did not stand and wait to hear Dante's predicted cry of surprise ring out. He turned swiftly, his coat tails flowing, and slowly walked back through the midnight street. He had seen the boy enter and that was enough. He knew that the plan was now in motion. He needed no other proof.

And he could not wait…he was looking forward to everything that was about to unfold. The next day would be a fun one, he thought, and the look on Lady's face should be prize enough for all his efforts.

Then again, he wondered what she might think. What she might say…he didn't really know her or understand her enough to interpret.

Lady was one of them humans, how would you put it? The only word fitting enough that Vergil could think up was 'fabled.' She was just so…different. Fresh. But still, sour, sardonic. And the issues she had, they were overwhelming.

Correction, Vergil thought, 'Lady _is_ issues.'

He didn't really need to know her all that well to understand it. But he remembered that time in Temen-Ni-Gru, how determined to succeed she had been, determined to kill her psychopathic father, Arkham. Though Vergil had never cared to wonder why she wanted revenge…it was, after all, common sense he supposed. She had probably desired justice since her vindictive father had killed her dear mother, the only true family she had ever possessed. He could not really say that he had not felt the same gorging fire of loathing when his own mother had passed before her time.

At least they had that in common…fire.

That fire could bond, mould, and brand…as long as he made it possible.

"It shall be no easy task…" he murmured with thoughtfulness, his resounding footsteps the only means of an answer he received. The silence spoke to him, and so solace came as a gift not a burden, for he could hear the night's every whim, every desire. And he shared those same ambitions. Darkness to Vergil never seemed frightening; he thought it beautiful. The deep blackness, his comforter. The sparkling stars, his guardians. The motherly moon, his mistress. And their radiance was all he ever needed within his small world of appreciation.

Few things he gazed upon were easy on his eye, for he cared not for looks, and he was not very aware of his own beauty either. All he had ever known was that he was different from others; always had been, always would be. He was even unique compared to Dante. And since he had left hell behind him, he had noticed his newness more…and he had begun to like it. The feel of energy that would rush through him with each new sight, each new smell…it was predatory.

He had always been somewhat animalistic. Not in a bloodthirsty sense, but judgmentally. He had long discovered that humans were beings that challenged all sins, and would eventually condemn themselves without realizing; merely because their own desires would turn on them, cloaking them in some terrible death, be it by its fate's own hand or his.

Humans are far too inquisitive for their own good; another point that made them completely unbearable in Vergil's eyes.

And yet, it made Lady all the more addictive…

He took a moment for his thoughts to set, slowing to a steady halt to allow his mind a rest. He had much to consider, and it was somewhat a challenge for even him. His feet came together in unity, his elegant coat tails joining the gathering with a welcoming pat against his legs.

Plucking his head up, the royal blue of his inner-eye flashed with the given shine of the moon, blinding him momentarily.

It was this illusion that made him pause…

Shadows were indeed haunting things but Vergil knew that his brain was far too complex to fall for the tricks that humans usually succumbed to. Products of the imagination fear of the unknown; these were things that could not possibly visit him. He had been to hell, _hell_ itself…

Nothing scared him.

But still, the present interest, fabled and ghostly as it was, could not fool Vergil's eyes. It was no phantom, nor spirit; it was real. As real as he or the moon. The white light from above spotlighted the being stood atop an on-looking building, which presented itself as a mere silhouette. Still, it was there, as bold as brass.

He gazed up, without hesitation, without reason. Although he could not see the eyes of the spirit-like woman, a step closer to the night sky than he, he sensed her stare…fancied with certainty that she was eyeing him.

He did not reach for Yamato, for he did not feel the need to touch its electric metal. He somehow doubted that he would be fighting…

And yet, how interesting this impostor was.

She was most certainly a demon, make no mistake. But she seemed to be quite remarkable and different. Similar to the Harlequin from this distance. Her form, although far away and hard to see, was human and shaped beautifully. The moonlight carved out her perfectly curved body, gleaming over the parts of her skin unadorned by clothing. Her legs were covered in shapely leather pants, and her top half seemed wrapped from breasts to navel. Her hair, exceedingly long, swayed down her back and flowed in the breeze, the brilliance from above hinting that she was fair.

But her pose…it was odd. He could not help but think that for a demon she had insolence. All demons feared him; it was a known fact in hell, and even the human world. He was the only one of Mundus' past servants to have escaped, rampaging through hell later with a horrific thirst for vengeance, slamming his enemies into Death Valley without an incline of mercy. And yet, there she was, this woman, standing there, with a hand on her hip and a stance that screamed 'cocky'.

She continued to look down on him, which Vergil did not see fitting, before pushing her back out lazily and laying her other hand on her side. It was almost as though she were challenging him to do something.

But he did not. He saw no need.

With a flash that he had been expecting, her powers seemed to react due to her impatience, he presumed. Small trickles of blue lights sprinkled her body like fairies, before becoming more vivid. From what Vergil could see, she possessed…lightning.

Although her entire being had begun to spark in turns, blazing through the shadows, she still did not come down.

It did not surprise him when she turned on her heel, and walked away from his view.

Sighing, he continued along his way, completely unfazed…

But he made note, just in case…

"A demon who can manipulate lightning…" his whisper came out with small audibility, and he blinked as he reminded himself that he would have to remember this piece of information; just in case it came back to haunt him.

The door clipped behind Nero with a bare lock, empty to his ears.

He did not want to look…he did not want to listen, see, or feel. His heart seemed to be in immense pain, throwing itself against his ribcage, beating at breakneck speed.

"Lady, is that you?"

He gasped, chest tight. His white fist met the handle of the door, and gripped onto it so tightly that the metal bended inwards.

_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God__…_

He cringed as the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the back room that he knew so well, a place where he found comfort.

Used to. Now he wanted to be anywhere else, _anywhere, _even if it meant being skewered by Vergil's katana.

"Lady, y- you…I wanna…answer, today, would be…nice!" An uneven voice cracked from the doorway, the footsteps more clumsy, hitting the ground with un-zinced rhythm. Like a lame racehorse, having to stumble back to the stable after a grueling challenge.

"Oh Jesus…" Nero whispered, wanting nothing more other than the ground to swallow him up, there and then. And in that rivaled instant, a drunken Dante stepped into the doorway of the backroom.

Damn. He really was pissed.

A bottle with a ravaged label that used to read _snakebite _lay bedded in his fist, his arm steadying him against the wall, head low and eyelids drooping. He had long lost his shirt, it was certain, for spill-marks were tattooed all over his sublime pectorals, running over every muscle with a clinging stick.

Nero sighed, somewhat relieved. Usually he would not have appreciated having to take care of a drunken Dante, but this was almost a relief. He would not have to explain anything, and if he did, Dante would only forget…

…it was Lady he now had to worry about.

"Uh…hi, Dante." he murmured, an experimental tone dusting his sound. The elder brought his head up at that, and gazed at him with a rather ill expression, his eyes unfocused, blinking rapidly.

In an almost secretive whisper, Dante wobbled, commenting "You're not Lady…oops."

Nero sighed, gritting his teeth. So typical Dante. He needed him more than ever now, even if he could not be honest with him, but still, Dante had managed to cock it up. Again.

Nero supposed he should not be too hard on him…after all, making a mess was Dante's forte.

"You're really ploughed, huh?" Nero pressed lowly, fore burrowing with frustration.

Dante seemed to find this insulting, and shook his bottle vigorously, almost falling while doing so.

"No, I'm n…not…" he then smiled, his brows cocking up, and he let go of the wall, spinning around in a wobbly circle, speaking with a thick, Italian accent. "Ima just havin' a ball!"

"Someone shoot me…" Nero couldn't help but murmur, walking over to Dante, before he had to step back as the elder tumbled to the ground with a loud YYEEAAAAA!

The foolish elder grinned up at Nero, saluting him with his leaking bottle.

"Top of the morning!" he yelled, sending the bottle's throat half way down his neck, happily snorting like a piglet in a paradise of mud.

Nero merely blinked; he was used to this, though he really didn't need it at that moment. His face did not draw into a smile, and he turned his view away from the glowing elder with a pained puff of his chest.

"Hey…why the long face, Seabiscuit?" Dante commented, trying to be cool by leveling one eyebrow up higher than the other. He failed.

Nero looked down on him again, considering.

…_I can't believe it__…_

He sighed heavily, eyes dimming, becoming disturbingly uncharacteristic. But Dante could see nothing other than a blur of shapes, the alcohol's vision. If he had been able to witness it though, he would have seen that someone had reached into Nero's soul and stolen his blue spark and fire.

Ironic that Dante could not see it, nor accept his brother's return…completely oblivious, and utterly blinded.

Nero entwined his arm under Dante's pit, pulling him up and taking him over to the red leather couch.

He let him go, allowing the elder to flop onto the leather, where he instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Rubbing his temple, Nero decided that he should work on the…_plan_.

Still, he could _not _believe it.

…_betray Dante__…__I will have to betray Dante__…_

…_and Lady__…_

Whilst he stood there, he could not help but feel envious though. For Dante would sleep well tonight.

Nero would not.

Lady's blue bruises groaned due to the ache of her walking forward, her feet swelling in their boots, rubbing up against the leather. With every stride she took, her footsteps embraced the ground with quaking pain, her back complaining due to Kalina Ann's immense weight pulling down on her muscles. Hours had slipped through her hands like water, and since she had not thought to bring a watch with her, she had no idea what time it was, factually. She could only guess and judge by watching the night, twilight's effects diming slowly as daybreak began to chase the darkness away, leaving the tear-drop stars and full, amble moon to vanish at their own pace. By now, she guessed, it must have been pushing onto five A.M, and still, she was chasing dawn's dusk.

She took in a tired breath, willing it to regenerate some of her lost strength. It did not work, in fact, it only made rest a more tempting prosper.

It was insane, really. She had been walking for nearly nineteen hours, determined to find him. Or rather, both of them. She had thought that by walking, she would be able to notice things with a keener view; find them easily. Of course, she had been incorrect...she now wanted her bike more than anything. She missed the comfortable leather seat and the stimulating acceleration it had to offer. She had long left Fortuna Castle after sweeping it intently, long left the snow drenched ground of its area, long left behind that cold, bitter breeze that had cleansed her hot, flushed face.

The cold had given her odd thoughts. It had made her think of...**him**.

He was unbearably frozen, she remembered that about him. His face, the craftsmanship of angels. His eyes, how they glowed and burned like fire and ice combined. The most frightening stare she had ever received had been born from those pupils, and yet, they still ached with beauty.

It just made her hate him more; not to mention herself.

His haunting silence clung to her bones, his icy breath still printed on her lips from the time, only days ago, when he had dared to stand so close to her.

Bastard. When she saw him next she would kill him; throw her bayonet through his head, and shoot a vicious flourish of bullets through his chest. She didn't care. As long as he perished, painfully, it would all turn out great...at least, that's what Lady kept telling herself. Her loathing towards him had suddenly emerged from a void, but there were plenty of explanations for her bitter feelings. For one thing, he had taken Nero and practically used him to blackmail her. And, as for the other reasons, well, a week ago Lady knew nothing of Vergil, except for their encounters in Temen-Ni-Gru. Of course, they had treated each other like enemies, and so introductions had not been given, conversation had not been shared.

But now, suddenly, this strange man had returned, and, somehow...it seemed they had a connection. Even if unspoken, it was there. He had given off a cruel notion, but all the same, a notion of introduction, of interest. And, though Lady wanted to shoot herself for it, she felt curious...

How did it happen? Why now?

...Why could he not be normal?

Why could he not just make amends with Dante? Dante would do so...he didn't even need an apology, though Dante felt as though he owed one to Vergil more...all the same, Lady knew he loved his twin, and missed him.

But why did Vergil insist upon this shit? Was it game? A fucking pleasure or something? She felt crowded all the time, like he was there, laughing at her attempt to track him down, hoping to save Nero from his clutches. She felt like Vergil enjoyed doing this sort of thing though...little did he realise that it did not scare her, it just pissed her off. Personally, she found it to be annoying, and she would kick his ass straight back to hell if she ever set eyes on him again. She growled when she remembered that she was not getting paid for this, either.

Taking another breath, Lady came to a tired halt at the entrance of Fortuna's business district. She took up a few minutes for herself; slouching her pose, stretching her legs out, flicking through her ebony layers of hair. After a little while she adjusted Kalina Ann and entered the district.

Fortuna's lawyers came here to the district commonly, usually to show up with clients in court. As Lady entered, it seemed to resemble that of an estate, with a small grass verge centred in the middle, signs pointing in different directions. One to the library, the other to the opera house, and a few pointing to the basic places like the cafes and restaurants.

Lady quite liked it here. It was actually a busy place, and she came here often, usually to bank her money. But at this hour of the morning no one was about...and it was beautiful. The sun had finally built up enough courage to aid the world in light again, and so it rose above the buildings of the city.

Lady sighed, flopping down onto one of the benches bordering the grass. Dainty flowers adorned the edges of the wooden armrests, but she slapped them away, making room for her weary body to sit and recuperate for an hour or so.

She started fixing plans in her head, wondering. Unbeknownst even to herself, her words escaped her mouth.

"Just set here a while...try not to sleep. That would be embarrassing for the law firm to see. Maybe go to the bank later, cash in. Go home...bath...yea that would be nice. Call Dante...not so nice. Sleep...eat...actually, I could grab a coffee before I head home..."

"How fascinating."

The hours of walking seemed to have paid off, for her body instinctively bolted up. She jumped to her feet, and within seconds, two of her hand guns were out, her body swirling at whirlwind speed towards the voice.

She had expected it. But still, when she saw him, it brought on new shock. Her head was spinning like a giant roulette wheel, and for a moment, Lady forgot how to breathe.

"Vergil..." she found that she was growling.

She might have believed him to be a dream at first, his body a mirage. He stood by the side of the grass, posture built up tall and unyielding. What with the rising sun behind him, melting away his paleness, he looked almost transparent. But somehow, he looked more real to Lady now than he had the last time she had seen him.

She could not see Yamato, and it worried her. Lady could do without a nasty surprise, she was stressed enough as it was. And oddly, he didn't look very threatening now.

That worried her more.

He did not smile, but he made a slight move that indicated his desire to walk. Lady embraced her guns harder, but flicked her head, showing him that he could move and she would not shoot...yet.

He looked away for a moment before gazing back feebly, interest stalking over his expression.

"You don't have your glasses with you today." He said observantly, just as though he were introducing conversation.

She glared at him viciously, her eyes flashing, the maroon in one becoming awfully vibrant.

"What the hell are you playing at?" she hissed, thrusting a gun his way. He shied, like a child playing hide and seek, hauntingly fabled. She swore she saw him hide a twitchy grin away, and that provoked her hands to cock both of her weapons up.

"Give me Nero, now." She seethed violently, slowly, with danger in her voice.

"What makes you so sure he's here? I suggest you phone Dante. He should be able to tell you where the boy is...that is, if he has recovered from his drunken laps."

His words confused her. She was too tired and tempered for his oblique statements.

"Stop playing with my thoughts! I know that you had him, so he must still be with you! Give him back; he can't benefit you in any way!"

He half sneered this time, or was it a laugh?

"You know, for such an intelligent woman, you really do let the obvious pass you by. You just said 'had him', insinuating that, yes, I did have him, but in past tense. Meaning now, in present tense, the boy is not with me. You let your father do that to you too, I remember. The fool told you that it was me who 'possessed' him into doing that which he was against...and you believed him, thinking your dear daddy might return."

She felt like killing him a hundred times over, and even he expected her to lose the plot...he was rather impressed when she stayed calm, content.

"Yea, well, F.Y.I fucker, I killed my father in the end...it was the single hardest thing I've ever done, but I did it. So don't treat me like I'm weak!"

Oddly enough, this triggered Vergil's anger.

"I never said you were weak...merely non-observant." He sneered, eyes shrinking to slits.

They shared a hatful, burning look for at least five minutes. Finally, Lady lowered a gun, but only one.

"I think I'm obligated to an explanation, demon." She grumbled, remembering back to the time when she had called Dante a demon, hinting him to be an emotionless being that could not understand her pain.

"It's complicated. For one thing, we were not meant to meet this morning. We were meant to meet tonight. The pathetic clone-boy made a mistake..."

Lady blinked, confused and startled.

"Wait...what? Meet? I was trying to track you down to burn you, not share tea and cakes!"

He raised an amused brow before shaking his head, platinum hair glistening with a sparkling yellow tinge due to the strengthening sunlight.

"I wanted it to be tonight...as I would of been prepared, and I would of had more leverage on my side. However, circumstance presenting..."

He suddenly unsheathed Yamato with lightning precision, he blade finally coming into view from behind his back, and in less than one-quarter of a second, it was upon her throat, ready to tear flesh. Yet, in turn, and to his great surprise, she had her gun up to his head, and not her handgun, but Kalina Ann.

"That's rather impressive." He mused, cocking his head slightly, looking her up and down with interest. She hated his eyes undressing her like that...she growled hotly, holding back the desire to hock on his boot.

"Spit out the leverage, condition, whatever you want..." she said lowly, never taking her stare away from his.

"The boy shall be left alone, and I shall never lay a finger on him again...if you come with me."

She blinked, falling apart. He sensed her despair.

_Why did he suddenly feel guilty? Guilt is not meant for the strong..._

"Lady?"

He had not wanted to say her name, not so softly anyhow. If it were anyone else, he would have said 'well?' or 'hurry.' Yet this was she, Lady, and he had to do things with detailed precaution.

"...What for? Why come with you?" she fired back, regaining rage.

He breathed tightly.

"If you don't then I take it I can go ahead and destroy Dante, the boy, and his lover...plus, that blond demoness who looks too much like my mother could do with a lesson in manners."

She wanted so badly to refuse him and shoot, run away...

But it was something in his eyes that held her back, something that seared through her. It spoke with loneliness, with sadness and pain.

The three feelings that made Lady who she was...loneliness, sadness, and pain. And still, even when she saw them in this man, so dangerous and full of hate, she could not turn her back on those feelings.

Soberly, she nodded.

In acceptance, he sheathed his Katana.

"I still don't get what you want me to do..."

"You are not meant to."

"But I don't want to be some prisoner, Vergil, and I won't be! When I want out, I get out..."

"Fine, but if you don't return, Dante will die...and the boy and girl..."

"But why me? What am I suppost to do?" her voice soothed, soft and narrative. Innocent as her question, quiet as a whisper.

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment, a little unbelieving. How was she so _human?_

"Simply..." he said, turning away from her since he could not say it to her face "...accept me."


	7. Haunted

The cool air of morning whispered through the windows of Devil May Cry, carrying a divine secret. Unheard and unfelt by the life within, the curtains revelled in their whispering pulse, slowly flowing in a gentle dance.

The shop was quiet, and Nero fell into the background; so statuesque that if a customer had intruded, they surly would not have noticed him there. In all his time of thinking, of stewing over the rippling memories of Vergil's recent impact upon his life, Nero had to remind himself to breath, and blink, and do a manner of things that were altogether an essential part of his existence. But everything was harder now...everything was scarred, torn, and broken. Living was now a burden.

He sat, in the darkest corner that the shop had to offer, in a leather armchair that he had pushed up against the wall. It had not been easy...before he could have just tossed its hefty weight about easily with the use of his devil-bringer, but now that it was dead, he could not. He had crumbled whilst trying to move the furniture, his back slumping, falling beneath him as he tried to push the armchair. In the end he had become so frustrated that he had pulled the Red Queen out, and with one cracking rev of its igniter, threw the blade against the leather and forced it into the corner. But the devil-bringer was, even to his own surprise, sorely missed. He felt mighty insecure without it, a hell of a lot more hollow, and his vulnerability now extended with no end. How ironic, he thought, that he missed it so much, when he had once cursed God's pure name for bestowing it on him.

His sea-glass eyes had been ajar for so long that they had actually changed colour, becoming paler, due to his failure to blink. His arms were like rocks, gripping the leather of his worldly chair so hard that they shook slightly, and his face remained set in stone. His expression would contort every now and then; believing he had come to a conclusion, but then realising that there really was no way out of this hell.

And then, as though the devil himself had come calling, the bell above the door of Devil May Cry rang in a sleepy manner, and someone moved the portal aside. The youth in the chair winced, finally crashing back down to earth and he snatched up his sword, pulling it hard against his chest as he awaited, prepared for the worst...

...An elegant figure flaunted through the doorway, black leather clinging to flesh. High heeled boots clinked against old wood, and blonde hair cascaded down in rivers. At first Nero did not recognise the being, what with him shrouded by the corner's shadows. But then, he remembered her, and his heart leapt a mile.

He vaulted out of the chair, skidding over to her like a child that had finally found its lost mother. His chest crashed into hers, his arms holding her to him furiously. He heard her gasp with miscomprehension, her hands held up in surprise. He burrowed his head into her shoulder, feeling his body crumble with each passing second...he would surly die of despair, but oh, why could his demise not claim him quickly? Her own body did not fall...and finally, she patted his back, still misunderstanding Nero's completely unprovoked gesture.

"Trish..." he mumbled into her sunlight hair, pushing his head into her shoulder hard...not as a friend or lover would do, but as an infant in desperate pain might. "Thank God...too long, too long, too long..." he whispered those two words on and on, beginning to shake with anguish.

"Nero...?" she hesitated, not knowing what to do. What was wrong with him? This kid...so headstrong usually, as cocky as Dante, and so brave that he would happily strut into hell with a smirk on his face. And now, reduced to _this?_ This whimpering boy, so crumbled that she was sure that he had shrunk at least five inches in height. "What's wrong, kid? You saw Dante naked or something?" she laughed forcefully, trying to create an atmosphere of light-heartedness...she failed. The young man drew in a painful breath, and he felt like he might just tear apart. The guilt was finally all too much, and he knew that he could not await Lady...to take her to that...that...**bastard!**

"Hey, Nero, come on! I just got back, I haven't seen you in weeks...what's going on? You're worrying me..." she sighed, pulling him up with her arms, and shaking him a little. His head remained low and his eyes were hidden by his hair. He did not look at her.

"Knew I shouldn't have left things to Dante...I come back, and everyone's dyeing on me. Not to mention Vergil coming back from the dead, how the hell that happened, I got no clue..." she whispered under her breath as she held him, recalling the sight of Dante's twin, only hours ago, at one with the night. She knew it had to be him, of course, for she remembered him well...when she had served Mundus, Vergil had been there, warped of mind. But when she had seen him only a little while ago, he had looked very much in character and in control.

Her self-directed muttering brought Nero back from his guilty slumbering.

"You saw him?" he suddenly cried, and he sounded like he might just collapse. His eyes sprang up to meet her gaze, wide and innocent, yet terrified. He then frantically whispered "So he wasn't a dream..." and his grip on her arm tightened. She opened her mouth to consult him, shook him again...but then he went very limp, and fell against her.

Mouthing her shock, Trish effortlessly pulled the unconscious Nero towards his armchair, letting him fall onto it heavily.

"Lady, that you?" a sudden voice echoed from the floor above, all groggy and tired. Immediately, Trish understood that it was Dante, since his voice was unforgettable, and of course, heavy with liquor. She imagined that his breath smelt like a dustbin...mainly deep-pan cheesy pizza.

She let go of Nero's stone-cold demon arm, and made her way towards the staircase.

"No Dante, it's me..." she did not say her name; Dante would know her sound well enough. "But I think you should get your ass down here...some stuff I need to tell you."

He responded with an excitable edge to his voice, as though she had never left for her reprieve.

"Sure thing, babe."

Trish smiled.

Just like old times...beside the gaping hole that she was about to tear into Dante's chest, what with the news of his twin brother's survival...

* * *

They had walked, endlessly, for what seemed like hours...

Lady made a point to stay well behind Vergil; she didn't want to look at the psycho's face, and she especially did not want him to see her. Those eyes of his made her sick. They burned with such intensity that it would feel like her skin was on fire, scolding all her flesh away until it was only her soul that remained. And, Lady, of all people, did not need to be judged or understood by a complete headcase.

She tried to forget that he was even there. And in doing so, she took in her surroundings.

Fortuna city, at night, was actually a rather frightening place. A deep mist followed the curb of the street they were on, rolling aside as Lady swiftly moved each of her defined legs. The buildings on either side looked solemnly empty, and somehow lonely. What with the late hour, everyone must be in bed, she thought, and so there was no flickering light from behind a window to give her hope. It was thoroughly dense, all too quiet, and completely dead. Ironically, however, in this decayed background Vergil could not look more alive...darkness suited him indeed.

He suddenly halted, and Lady copied. He stood very still for a moment, thinking hard, wondering to himself...

_This shall take too long, and I have no patience for it..._

"We are going to drive, Lady." And through the corner of her eye, she realised that Vergil was not staring into nothingness...he was, in fact, eyeing a very expensive looking ebony Jaguar at the end of the street. Cocking her head, Lady noted where this was going. She frowned.

"You can't steal a car, Vergil..."

He slowly turned to her, and she could not quite tell because of the darkness...but it almost seemed like he was..._smirking_. He huffed aloud, and she spied his breath roll in delicate waves, illuminated by the cold air.

"I see no sign that says 'do not steal'." He mused, and Lady shook her head in complete disgust. Apparently Vergil noticed, for he contorted his expression in a snobbish fashion that Lady just wanted to blow off with Kalina Ann.

"Do you honestly think that your word is law?" she violently hissed, her hand flailing, and she daringly took a step closer to him. He curled his lip up, trying hard to suppress his dominance.

After all, yes, his word was law...who was she to think otherwise? _And_ she was a _woman_...

"Lady..." he explained, shaking his head, which only made her angrier. "For the last _ten years_ I have been in Hell. And I should, rightfully, have perished. But I didn't...instead, I ruled that place_, and now every demon bids my say. _So yes, my word is law_."_

"Not in this world, demon!" she yelled suddenly, taking another step closer so that she was only a mere inch from his face. "This is the human world, where each person has to fend for themselves...in a way, worse than your stupid Hell! We don't steal and we don't act so fucking pompous, so you're not stealing that damn car! Besides, you don't even know if it's got keys!"

His eyes shrunk to icy slits, and her hands found her hips, and they both stood like that for over a minute. Finally, it seemed to hit home how stupid this argument was...for Vergil, at least.

He took a step back, span around and approached the Jag. But before Lady could say anything, Yamato belled, the Jag lock resounded with a deafening click, and Vergil opened its now dented door. He pushed himself inside the car to retrieve something before pulling back and facing Lady.

In his hand were a set of keys.

Mumbling incoherent cusses to herself, she approached the passenger's side and decided not to argue. Vergil used the same strategy, and elegantly fell into place behind the wheel.

Lady did not miss _this_ smirk, and as they sped off she defiantly whispered to herself "asshole."

* * *

A silent Dante sat beside the red couch that accommodated a young man, finally content in had not awoken in hours...and Dante was not sure if he wanted to arouse him. The thought made him kinda...nauseas? Ill? Embarrassed? _Ashamed?_

He had not realised it, not even when the answer had been _right there_, under his nose. Lady tried to tell him...but he didn't listen.

Why hadn't he listened? Lady was honest, completely, with his best interests at heart_. _She would_ never _try to hurt him, ever. At least, not anymore...

He exhaled, hands clapped together in thought. Behind him he heard Trish's heels clinking, and as he slightly turned to look at her, he noticed a glass of water in her hand.

"Here..." she said, lustful waist cocked to one side, her other palm on her hip.

He smiled wearily. "No Jacks? On the rocks? I could do with a Daniels..."

She huffed, slowly pushing herself down to sit beside him.

"Just water...it will do you good." She smiled, moving her head to the side to catch a better look of him, and that beautiful sparkle that he had missed so much glistened in her eye. "For a change."

Sighing, Dante gulped down the pint of clear substance, cold and refreshing against his throat. He wondered though...what would she say if he...?

"Trish..." his voice cracked as he hurried to finish, the pure water suddenly flammable in his stomach. He didn't know how to tell her...and yet, it seemed she already knew...his cerulean eyes met with her sapphire ones.

"You know...I really did miss you."

It was nothing that Trish had not expected, but still, she was flattered. Bending close, she set a humble kiss on his cheek, which inflamed under her lips.

"Yea, I know...but this isn't about me, is it?" she cocked a brow, wondering over his reaction. Trish knew that what they had discussed had been very hard for Dante to take in, but she seemed to have convinced him. Still, his face was suddenly cast in frustration and contempt, the glass almost breaking in his grasp.

"You sure, Trish?" his expression suddenly fell apart, and she understood to an extent. Dante only ever visited his past when he absolutely, completely had to, and now, having to face the fact that..._he_...was very much alive was like swallowing arsenic, in Dante's mind. He eyed her suspiciously, his mouth lined with hatred and his brow creased with anger. "I can't stop him unless you're sure..."

She put a hand on his knee.

"Dante...Nero has seen him, Lady is now most likely trying to find him again, and I know that I saw him last night...he's back, and you know that I don't lie to you. We have to find him Dante. What if someone like Kyrie were to be influenced-?"

"I know...I'll do it." Dante spat darkly, and in a flash, he was on his toes. He thundered to his desk, and tucked in Ebony and Ivory, Rebellion at his side in a second.

He looked back at her before he made his way to the door.

"I'll be at the Fortuna Inn at 1oclock tomorrow afternoon. Meet me. It's about time I had a family reunion...it won't be the same without you."

Then, somehow, through all the aching in his chest and pain numbing every fibre of his body, he smiled. Of course, smiling always helped, and Vergil of all was not going to bring Dante down...and when he stepped out into the night, he was still grinning; even had a strut to his walk.

* * *

Lady now understood why Vergil had insisted upon driving. The road was exceptionally long, winding, and annoyingly sharp. And it was a good job that he was the one doing the driving too...if she had driven whilst he had given her directions, god knows where they would have ended up. Not that Lady was a bad driver. In fact, she would happily wager that she was better than Vergil.

He never took his eyes off the road, at least, not while she was looking at him. But she found that she had become addicted to the view of his cold face. He drove the car casually, one hand on the stirring wheel. And still, while he took on such a human task, he could not look less magnificent. As she'd realised, darkness agreed with him; it made his face look as though it were the lunar-light itself, glowing with a magnetic tinge. His eyes concentrated on the road heavily, and yet, his pupils still clung to that dangerous beauty; like two crystal shards, shining dominantly.

He never spoke, and that satisfied Lady. It meant that she did not need to think of words to use in reply.

He suddenly leaned forward, looking observantly through the windscreen. Lady's curiosity played up as she watched him; she had forgotten that the car was moving, what with his entire aura haunting her.

He didn't really look like Dante. Well, of course he _did_. But...no, not in the same sense. It seemed that their two very different personalities held their faces in an uncommon grasp. Dante looked far more attractive, _physically_, than Vergil...but then, Vergil was _beautiful, _outwardly. Two very unique paths of radiance.

She gazed out of her passenger's side, hoping to see something that indicated towards a destination. But all she saw were the blurred shapes of black, outlined trees, whipping past her window into the abyss.

Sighing, she rubbed her face. Why did he have to be so stupidly mysterious?

"It's alright. We're nearly there." He promised under his breath, though his whisper was hard and, somehow, unsure.

Lady sighed again, frustrated. She noticed that his eyes grew wider for a brief moment as she turned towards him with force.

"I don't _need_ you telling me it's alright." She snapped vigorously, clenching her jaw. "I have to stay with you because you're blackmailing me...as long as I'm here, with _you,_ it won't be alright. So just drive!"

As she turned back to her window, Lady noticed that Vergil's driving hand grasped the wheel in a furious clench.

Typical, he could not help but think. Here he was, making an effort, and she only threw it back in his face? Wretched human...

They were all the same; they did not understand _anything_. He had been a fool to think that she would be able to relate to him, and an even bigger fool for believing that he could warm to her. Or rather, that she would warm to him.

Vergil let out a discrete breath, hoping that Lady would not notice his frustration flutter through the air. But she did, and with it she noticed that for a moment, his face fell, less than dead.

He snapped back when he saw her visibly wince.

"We're here." He stated as he stole a glance her way, and without warning, he gracefully strode out of the car.

Lady took a moment to realise where they were. Just a foot ahead of the vehicle, a huge set of iron gates were planted, standing tall. The night didn't really help, giving off a gloomy eeriness that conveyed an illusion...that daylight could never return.

"Shit..." she exclaimed to herself, suddenly panicked.

There really was no going back...

Lady could just about see Vergil set close to the side of the gates beside the wall, perhaps punching in a pass code? She was unsure, but after a second he strode back toward the car while the iron behind him crept aside. Vergil pushed the car into acceleration before he had even shut his door.

Slowly, the car travelled down a cobbled path laid at its wheels, perfectly kept lawns on either side. Little trees that had been plucked of stray branches adorned the private path, set in an old Victorian style.

Lady peered into the distance. It took some time for her eyes to catch a glimpse, but she soon realised that, darkly awaiting their arrival, was a house. An absolutely, completely, utterly, _huge_ house...better described as a mansion. The old windows glistened with a dark tint, and the bricks were aged, chipped even. It toward over the sky, making the heavens seem small and pathetic. The large wooden door was more toward the right side of the building, shifted below a tower that flew higher than the rest of its enormous structure.

"You didn't say that we were going to see a haunted house..." Lady grumbled, leaning against her hand before smirking sarcastically.

He didn't reply until he stopped the car. The vehicle stilled, jerking the both of them forward, and he turned to her, a tiny yet evil smile touching his lips.

"Wait until you see what's inside, Lady."

His words failed to startle her; she only became more curious. As he left the car, she copied, making an effort to slam the door. Of course, he had to see her temper...she was pissed off, and he ought to know it too.

With the enthusiasm of an old woman making her way into a nursing home, Lady shifted uncomfortably down the path, Vergil only a step behind her. His gait was flawless, she could even hear the perfection ringing in his steps. With each move he made, it matched Lady's sync exactly. Growling with exasperation, Lady quickened, and Vergil smiled...

He stepped ahead of her easily, before forcefully taking her unsuspecting arm into his own, wrapping it in his overbearing embrace. He saw her eyes flash, and pulled his brows closer together, showing off his relentlessness.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lady murmured, but did not try to escape him.

"Once you realise where you are, you will hate me to an insatiable degree. Therefore, I think it best that I'm good to you before you try to kill me." With that thought to stew over, Lady's face pulled into thinking...and Vergil had to suppress a feeling that was altogether, very male. A sense of ownership and mixed admiration, almost an obligation, to protect and hold this woman. Was it the way her lush mouth pouted? How her eyes were so fitting, although bi-coloured? How her face was so delicate, so breakable, that even a frown seemed enough to crack through her innocence? Was it really these beautiful details that enthralled him so?

He did not understand his emotions very well...he never had...

He needed more time...

And yet, here she was, with her bouncing pulse and beating heart, stealing that all too precious time away from him.

He noticed that she fingered one of her hand guns as they approached the door.

And of course, Vergil did not knock...did not see the point. He pushed the huge door aside with a single nudge, and suddenly, Lady was thrown into a world of light.

She gazed at the surroundings, for a moment, perplexed...

...and then it hit her.

It was cold, harsh, and cruel in every possible stretch of the imagination. Even for him, it was low...Lady's blood boiled within her as she slowly turned to the despicable man behind her, and just as he predicted, she metaphorically planned his death-note...with the aim of her huge bazooka, ready to blast his skull to pieces.

"You brought me _here?"_ she whispered, a voice full of disbelief and pure, mangled hatred.

All Vergil could do was nod. He knew that now was not the time to motivate her masochistic mood with words that, no matter how honeyed, could ever fix Lady's heart. And of course...Vergil knew no kind word.

She suddenly let out a distorted laugh, and he could already hear the tears in her throat, threatening her. But she would not let them spill...never. Not in front of Vergil. He would like to see her suffer due to his cause, she was sure, but such a man was not worth it.

"Your...you bastard!" she exclaimed, the only word that she could think up. "You brought me here, of all places! My home? My mother was killed in this house, by my own father! And you knew it!"

Vergil found himself sighing, and he steered away from the shaking woman, realising that he had approached this incorrectly. But she was here, and that's what mattered...her pain was none of his concern.

"I brought you here simply because it is where I lived before I succumbed to Hell, while I was still an ally of Arkham...and for the last few days, I have planned my return since the house is empty and still furnished."

"I don't give a fuck about furniture!" she suddenly screamed, and, to even his own great surprise, Kalina Ann released a huge bazooka. The ammunition sped towards him, but he only stepped to the side, unleashed Yamato, ad cut through the bellowing steel that skimmed him by an inch.

"Lady-"he steered, her preferred name slipping from him, but it made no difference. Lady had finally hit her brick wall of desperation, and to be locked in the house where her blackest nightmares had always called for her, was _never _going to happen. Not if she could help it.

Vergil measured in his mind. The door was behind him...so he had the upper hand. If he got her into one of the many rooms and locked her there, he would not have to deal with her hate. But that would not be easy. He stood in the way of her freedom, and between them there was only a glass table and shelved books, pushed up against the walls.

He kept Yamato up in defence, its light-speed unable to be broken by any attack she might give.

But Lady was far smarter than that; she hoisted Kalina Ann onto her shoulder and tilted upwards, the huge gun blasting towards a glass chandelier. Vergil's eye picked up, the glass flew towards him in a clatter of chimes and shards, but with such power in hand, Yamato's energy infused and the glacial shards exploded towards where Lady had been.

_Had_...the word reverberated in his mind, and with a growl he looked towards the door. He caught sight of Lady's arm whipping through the open portal...

Was she really so desperate? Did this place hurt her so much? Vergil asked himself but found no answers, and as he swept by to pursue, he sheathed Yamato, the glass from the chandelier cracking into a mess of crystalline as he did so.

She would not leave him...she could not. She was not allowed. She had no right in the matter; she had agreed, and that was final.

As he walked back out into the dark he spotted her, a handgun being cocked by her fingertips, before she aimed at one of the Jag's windows and blasted a bullet straight through. In her desperation, her fingertips clawed at the broken window, cutting her skin as she searched for the keys, blood flowing down the side of the car's paint-job...until a force pulled her arm back, and she cried with frustration.

"Let me go and give me the keys!" she demanded, pleased that strength had finally made itself clear in her voice.

"No..." he stated simply, and his grip tightened.

"You're a piece of work..." Lady seethed viciously, her other hand travelling through air at precise speed, and hitting Vergil squarely in the jaw.

For the first time in a long time, blood boiled in Vergil's brain, giving his eyes a carnation tint. It took every ounce of his control not to hit her back; after years of torment in hell, it was, after all, only instinct.

"Fuck, Vergil, let...me...GO!" Lady's temper finally hit her hard, and her lily cheeks bloomed crimson. Little did she know that, for this very reason, Vergil wanted to hold her ever closer.

But he didn't...he controlled himself and acted upon what reason he felt was justified. Just like Nero, he pinned her against the car door and unsheathed Yamato, its silver taunting her throat.

"Your choice, Lady Mary..." he whispered, enjoying every un-clarified syllable of the growl that came from her throat. "...death by my sword, or a simple companionship. I'm not asking much, but you're making it far more complicated than it needs to be. I'm asking you to stay in the house, for tonight...tomorrow, you need not look at it."

Her throat flashed, and he gulped. He was too close to her...leaning down, his mouth close to her ear, and his eyes tracking every movement of her elegant throat.

"But what happens tonight?" she questioned, in a whimper, to her despair.

He smiled, and she did not miss it.

"Nothing, of course." And he realised that he sounded far more entertained than he ever could have believed. Still, she put on a great show...

For that, Lady hated him even more. She was _no one's_ object, _nobody's_, and Vergil should know it...he may be powerful, she thought, but he'll never tame me.

"Go to Hell..." she whispered with brutality, unaware of the irony until her statement fled her mouth.

"On the contrary, my lady, I've already been...it was not such a nice reprieve."

Pulling her to him, he walked back towards the dreaded house... and to his delight, Lady did not struggle.


	8. Dreams

_The footsteps were not like his own. They did not come privately; collected...they were not dangerous like his own steady beat. They emanated with weight and coldness, almost rebellious despise. Each one hit the ground hard, deliberate, thudding for attention. There was no precision, only the loudness of hefty crunching as each foot slapped the floor._

_He turned slightly, saw the colours change. The dark graveyard looked odd when challenged by his brother's presence. That red trench-coat slick as it slipped over his defined shoulders, pale pectorals gleaming through the blackness. _

"_Well, isn't this just a coincidence?" nineteen year old Dante said, his voice heavy with the sarcasm that Vergil hated. "Running into you like this, Big Bro."_

_Vergil, silent and still, did not turn. He did not blink or breath, only stayed in place. He felt the predatory Dante circle him, longing for a fight, but no alarm went off in his head. Instinct did not taunt him, and so impulse was not needed. Time stilled in his mind, moving as one with his brother's...through every step a memory, through every shake a thought. For one second, they were one. As twins should be, as they once had been. Dante's smirk was Vergil's, their expressions mirrored. _

_As best he could, Vergil broke the connection, snapping the sadistic yet brotherly bond. _

"_Fitting we meet in a graveyard...convenient too, since you won't be leaving." His voice poisonous, and so masochistic that it even disturbed his own ears._

_**Had he always hated him so? **_

_**Had he not loved his brother at some point? **_

_**Is there not a fine line between love and despise?**_

_He supposed not, and put it aside. Now was time for more; a blood-ridden reunion. Vergil sighed impatiently, tossing his moonlight hair as he lifted his head to meet his twin's eye. _

"_Sorry to disappoint, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out of witty rejoinders."_

_Smiling, Dante halted, and removed Rebellion from his back to lay on his shoulder. _

"_You never did have much of a sense of humour..." he quirked a silver brow, satisfied with the scowl Vergil threw at him. _

_**Such an arrogant bastard.**_

_Dante sighed, continuing with his little charade. 'Of course', Vergil thought, 'his only pleasure in life is to torment those he feels are weaker. He mistakes me then...'_

"_Been a long time, hardly recognized you." Dante continued, eyelids fluttering up, obviously enjoying to bathe in such shallow jests. "Wish I could say the years have been kind. Pretty odd crowd you run with these days. Demons and cadavers? Surly you can do better."_

_Finally satisfied, Vergil laughed. It was mirthless and dry, and to his great pleasure, so very cold. Every ring of sound that rolled from his mouth chilled the air, freezing every inch of silence. This was how he felt about his brother __**all the time,**__ so rightfully, he should know it. Why be kind when he could be cold? No one had ever done well for him, no one had ever put a foot forward..._

_...only his mother._

_And she was long dead._

_He squeezed the handle of Yamato tightly, the electricity blazing underneath his fingers._

"_It has been a long time, brother. There's a lot about me __**you**__ couldn't understand."_

_That seemed to hit a nerve._

"_Just because I don't __**care**__ doesn't mean I don't understand."_

_The red-clad twin then shook himself, and span Rebellion like a majorette stick._

"_You came by recently though, right? That looked like your handiwork in the alley, or some demon you summoned. Sorry I missed you..."_

_Thoughtful and honest, Vergil replied; "Yes...I'm sorry too."_

"_Not as sorry as you're gonna be..." the younger growled. And suddenly the guns were out, ready to fire. Yamato followed, faithfully at Vergil's side._

_Dante eyed the beautiful Katana, and Vergil did not miss the hunger that resided in his expression. _

"_Yamato, eh? Suits you..." and then, in an instant quicker than light, Dante was more serious than ever, face contorted in stone._

"_Don't do this, Verge."_

_In its own way, these words replaced the bullets that Dante's barrels were yet to release. They were sharp, emotional, painful, and disgraceful. It was a low hit, below the belt, and Vergil was never going back to that defeated place of regret, depravity, and loathing._

_**Never!**_

_He would not let Dante condemn him so. Rage lined his cheeks, eyes bitter and vivid with vile fire. _

"_If you're trying to impress me with your pathetic emotions, Dante...__**try harder." **__It was the first time for him to even utter his name, and it stabbed at his throat viciously. _

_Disgusted, Vergil's upper lip trembled to a hiss, eyeing his shameful brother._

_Actually yes..._

_He did hate him._

_More than anyone._

_More than anything._

_**How he had stolen everything.**_

"_Firearms and Rebellion..." he taunted, the light in Dante's eyes flickering feebly "...how __**like you**__ Dante." He shook his head, the temper surging, boiling, killing his mind and battering it into broken dreams, boasting the blunt realities that made him what he was. What he didn't really want to be._

"_Vergil...this is insane."_

"_What is sanity?"_

"_Verge..."_

"_You know __**nothing!"**_

"_Vergil!"_

"_Be silent!"_

Gently his eyes opened, and resorted to the pale sight of his palm resting against his fore. Most people would be disturbed by such a nightmare...a bleak graveyard, carpeted with demon corpses and dismembered flesh; not to mention a brother that was better left forgotten.

But Vergil did not flinch. He only silently awoke, realising that he had never put his body to bed. His other hand was wrapped tight around Yamato's handle, the blade still against his leg. He sat in a chair, arm lent on the wooden table in front of him, supporting his drowsy head. And his coat was there behind him, to act as his pillow he supposed.

However, although he was now in reality, the dream did not flee. Almost like a cinema movie, rolling in the back of his mind, reeling him into its disdainful scenes.

His face creased itself with confusion. Slowly, he pulled himself up, feet very numb.

_Why that dream? Had that event ever occurred? He couldn't recall..._

He remembered hating Dante then. More than anything, but that was likely. After all, his feelings had not changed...Dante would not last much longer. No matter what he had said to Lady. He kept no promises to anyone, only himself. He saw no reason in honesty, only self-inflicted. He answered to no one...

His lip twitched, eyelids moving down as he tugged the coat to him, wrapping it around his shoulders. Automatically he moved towards the door, the sky outside the dark window still bathed by dim moonlight.

He wondered where she had ended up staying. Probably in the attic, it's the kind of thing she'd do...as far from him as possible.

She didn't like him. But that was in no way a surprise, she may not understand it, but Vergil's intuition had told him that she did not like anyone.

So maybe he could be a first? Ha...that made even Vergil want to smile.

With unrelenting poise he began to descend the ancient, engraved staircase, taking in all his surroundings. He was quite fond of this house...there was something about it that appealed to him. The mute silence that was never disturbed, aside from his quiet footsteps. The vicissitudes that held onto that rare, warm darkness, so rare and touching. And the many pieces of art and literature were also rather fascinating. He turned his head up to the wall as he moved, eyeing the old paintings and poetry.

Such good taste. He doubted it was Arkham who had put such an effort into the house...perhaps an ancestor?

Or maybe it had been the woman. The mother...he didn't know her name. He merely guessed because mother's seemed to have that kind of spark, like Eva had.

Eva's desperation had been very admirable. With every day that passed after Sparda's departure, it had weakened her, killed her from the inside. But she had never given up hope for her sons. Not once...she had tried her hardest, and had not understood why Vergil had so deliberately attempted to pass. Not because he didn't love her, but because her pain damaged him in more ways than she had known. It was his obligation was it not? He was the eldest, the more advanced at the time. He wanted to care for her, wanted to relieve her. She deserved more than what she had received, and for that, Vergil had not forgiven his father.

All he wanted from his father was the same power, that divine legacy. He needed nothing else. He didn't need to be like him...didn't need to see from his view.

He wasn't like Dante, who he thought had more of their father in him than himself. All he needed was feeling, a relinquish...to wash away all of his numbness. A fire that could melt the most powerful of ice; that's what he needed.

Perhaps, he considered, he had finally found it.

Having reached the bottom floor of the house, Vergil approached the front door and stepped through without an effort; he would wait for Lady. He knew once she had awoken, she would not stay in the house longer than necessary.

And he could do with the last few hours that the night had to offer.

But then as he moved his view towards the Jaguar, he realised that he wouldn't have to wait.

There she was, standing as though expecting him, almost like she had timed it. She had her legs crossed in stance; her small back leant on the car, scarred fingers clenched, but arms supporting her body against the vehicle.

He also noticed that she had found her glasses. They blinded his view of her eyes; what she was thinking was now intangible.

Frustrated, he clenched his jaw.

"I guess it's true what they say then." She said, voice smug as her lips moved into a critical mould. "The wicked don't rest."

"I could say the same about you..." Vergil muttered, his rope of patience tightening. "I told you to sleep."

"Like I said." She shifted, daringly moving forward, an inch from him. Looking down at her now he sneered, able to see her eyes between the gap of the shades and her head.

"Your word is not law."

Swiftly she turned towards the car, walking over to the passenger's side. Vergil took a step closer, but then her voice held him.

"Where are we going anyway? You didn't tell me."

Feeling an urge to bend his lips up, Vergil answered; "A place of the past."

* * *

"Hey! Look, I didn't ask for a damn essay! I want what I asked for, not five pages of pure bullshit! 'Order this, and order that'...get your facts right!"

"What the hell am I suppost to do Dante? You asked me for info and I gave it, not much more I can do!"

By now, Dante's temper had risen to a very high farenheight. He clenched his fists and sneered at his 'supposed' supplier of critical information, warming to the idea of brandishing Ivory to the guy's head and really blasting him to hell.

Instead, he tried a different approach. With a painted smile, he held a hand out, and Trish came from behind him, catching on immediately. Slyly she swaggered to the desk of the Fortuna inn, the handy-man behind it suddenly looking extremely tense and far less cocky.

"Shit..." he muttered, greasy dark hair falling over his brow.

"Ah, so you remember me?" Trish smirked, winking with an implication in her eye. Her black-painted fingernails flashed as she quickly pulled out one of her pistols, the smile never faltering. Elegantly, her long finger flicked the weapon about playfully, Dante crossing his arms to enjoy the show as the handy-man's back stiffened.

"Well that's good...so we don't have to repeat the first date, and we can move straight on to second base?" she continued, seating herself on his old desk as the man started to breath with unease. His sight flickered from one devil hunter to the other, before his voice cracked, trying to make small-talk.

"I...I thought you left town?" his sound quivered, vocals betraying the bravery that he was trying to pull off. Grin widening, Trish quickly looked to Dante, who seemed to be widely enjoying himself.

"Waw...I really made an impression the last time I visited you, didn't I?" she sighed, the deep breath making the flesh within her corset move slightly. She didn't miss the perverted look the man used for a moment.

"In fairness, it's kinda hard to forget a chick who fries your lungs with lightning..." the man muttered darkly, frowning more so when Trish gave a quiet chuckle.

"I told you I was sorry, but you really should have done your job without running off to tell your buddies. We do what we can to survive, and unless you've betrayed us this time, I won't touch you. So tell us, what do you know? Everyone is aware that the order members used to come here to discuss private stuff...and, no doubt, let a few secrets slip after knocking back a couple of beers. What you got?"

"I aint got shit-!"

Quickly her gun went to his mouth, making the man jump dramatically.

"Be honest."

For a moment, his fear caught up with him and he lowly squealed, pupils shaking. Waiting for him to regain composure, Trish did not cock the gun. He breathed in, muttered something about regretting this later, and finally did as he was told.

"Something about the last Order official found dead in his own house...Wife found him there, apparently she's had a stroke, ended up in the nut house-."

"Back to the official..."

"Sorry. They say he was the last guy who was left after..." he nodded towards Dante "...took the Order out, the only guy left who knew the secrets so to speak."

Finally deciding to intervene, Dante stepped fourth.

"Know any secrets?"

"Only one..." he suddenly smiled, defiantly smug.

Looking at one another and raising brows, both Dante and Trish turned to the man with dark curiosity taunting them.

"Wassat?" Dante asked

"Well, you see Dante, someone apparently saw the guy who killed the official, walking out of his house after committing the murder...they say it was you."

This seemed to silence Dante. He suddenly looked very pale, like death had gently touched him on the cheek, so quietly he had not seen it coming.

He knew who it was, who it must have been. There was no other, and he remembered the curse of being a twin all too well...

...being mistaken for your other half. He had not missed the feeling of non-existent individuality whatsoever. But now that it had returned, he felt quite nauseas and somehow angry.

_Why the hell can't you just let it go, Verge? _He kept thinking over and over, the thought quite literally making him ill. It was like sitting in one of those waltzer rides at a funfair, and feeling that burger you ate making its way back up your oesophagus as the cart just whirls around and around, faster and faster.

He took a breath to calm himself.

"Right. Well, thanks. Trish, we gotta go, c'mon."

Hurriedly she jumped off the desk and followed him to the door.

As soon as they were back out into the night, the door slamming shut behind them, Dante's panic seemed to catch up with him.

"I can't believe it..."

"Dante, what's wrong? You knew, I told you!"

He staggered slightly, before facing her with a very grim expression. An expression that, in every sense of the word, frightened Trish. It did not fit his face; it cut away his spark, personality, and his attitude. It was not meant for this man that she knew so well...he saw no fear, and handled omens as an occupation. Could something like his brother, a member who should be loved but did not allow himself to be, really cause Dante such pain?

She suddenly felt very useless. He turned his back on her, hopelessly, the hair falling into his eyes, arms limply at his sides. This was not meant to be...every thought he had ever credited to Vergil's memory had been a past one, a grateful one. How, when they were children, they had been inseparable, joined at the hip. How everything had been so much easier before it all went to waste. How the brotherly bond had held them together, the way it was meant to be...

Slowly Trish put her gun away, and ever so gently, took a step closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, placing her head to lean against his back. Sighing deeply, he gratefully put his hands on hers, holding them there as he thought _what happened to me? Have I always been this weak when it comes to family matters? It would explain why mom died when she did...and I couldn't save her._

And suddenly, as though reading his thoughts, she whispered into his ear the reply that he himself was contemplating.

"Vergil couldn't save your mother, Dante, or you. He hasn't done you favours. You need to let it go..."

"I was thinking more that he needed to..."

"Well, that's his problem. All you need to do is stop him. And you know I'll help..."

The senses came back, overwhelming and new. Truth, virtue, strength, and reason all moulded into one. Finally smiling a little, Dante held onto his partner's arms and turned to face her.

"So I guess if Verge wants to play games, better get the ball rolling huh?"

Tossing her golden hair, she started to stride, him at her side as they both considered the next move. Advancement would have to be swift if they were going to succeed, and Dante would have to start thinking more along the lines of his brother's mind...which would not be easy. It was hard to understand why Vergil had killed the Order Official, Dante thought, but there had to be a reason. Vergil was rational; everything that he did made sense to him. But he was also very selfish. Yet Dante remembered his complex mind well enough to know that he must of had a reason for the Official's murder.

It would explain why Nero had returned without Yamato, would it not?

Of course, Vergil had wanted it back. That was most likely the reason; perhaps he had asked the Official to tell him where it was...had that way been given the link to Nero...and the rest was history.

"Most of its logic." Dante muttered, gazing at Trish who looked back at him curiously. "He must have asked the guy about Yamato, then known Nero had it...tracked us down to Fortuna Castle. Lady was right..."

"You don't say Batman. I dunno how you could have doubted her, must of been my absence."

She had a point. But that was the past now, they had to count on the future; to catch up with Lady, and see a few tourists' sites on the way...

* * *

It was dark by now, the sun long gone. Darkness came with a purpose tonight, and everything fell into a haze of disorientation and unexplainable decay.

The silence enveloped him in its eerie mystery. It was very peaceful, not like the place he had seen in his dream. But the silence...the silence was otherworldly.

Of course, he heard nothing. But deep inside, behind his heart, below the ice, he felt the breath of silence touch his soul. Heard it whisper in his ear, and gently tingle over his closed eyelids.

Into the silence...such a beautiful melody.

Suddenly ruined by her impatient sigh...

"This is pointless..." her voice muttered, edged with a shallowness that she did not really hold. There was so much she could not see, so much she didn't care to know.

Lady just watched the world. Vergil could see it.

Opening his eyes, he slowly turned to face the young woman, hardly able to see her through the night, but could just about tell she was leaning against a random headstone. He himself did not know why he had decided to come here, but something within him had told him that it was a good idea. Plus he had not visited in so long...the dream had surly been a sign.

Looking at her now, he was compelled to say exactly what was on his mind.

"A rose with so many thorns. It is unfathomable..." he whispered outwardly but she obviously did not hear. Looking past him, she certainly did not care for his thoughts or feelings; she believed he felt nothing. In a way, she was right.

"Shall I tell you why I brought you here?" Vergil's voice held no rhythm, and came out with a very bored edge.

"It would be a start..." Lady snarled before pulling her body up and walking a little closer. He turned back, coat tails flowing.

"Then come here..."

Obediently, Lady took another few fearless steps until she was beside him, her small frame challenged by his tallness, but she was not intimidated. She didn't really think she had a reason to be...

At least not yet.

"Look." He muttered, nodding towards the headstone laid at his feet. At first, Lady did not catch on. But she realised what he meant after reading the simple name "Eva" engraved in gothic letters across the harsh stone.

Slowly, she removed her glasses and hooked them onto her shirt, a placid expression taking her face. Vergil however, did not miss the unprovoked sorrow that lay beneath the skin.

He knew better than to mention it.

"Your mother..." she whispered, forgetting that since last night, she despised Vergil more than anything or anyone she had ever come across, aside perhaps her father. "I didn't know that she was buried...Dante never told me...never showed me-"

"That's because he does not have the stomach to face the past." He pointed out simply, hands held together near his waist, Yamato supported by their unity, its sheath embedded into the ground.

She suddenly looked at him oddly. Something came to her mind, something she was very sure of.

He really did not care. Not an ounce of remorse chilled his visage, not a glimmer of regret visible in his eyes. He was just...empty. No wonder he was the perfect villain, she supposed. It seemed that he had felt such pain and such suffering for so long that it had eventually spanned into such complexity that now it was only nothing.

Lady looked within herself...was that pity tickling her heart?

No, never.

"You don't miss her, do you?" she could not help but ask, could not stop herself from uttering the words.

Vergil felt momentarily surprised. She cared? But why? He did not expect her to get involved, but then he realised that, being human, her cancerous emotions were provoking her curiosity.

"You said so yourself, Lady. It is pointless. She is dead, and being human, was destined to die. You creatures are born to meet your demise...with every breath you consume, your life goes on, and you move closer to fate."

"That doesn't answer the question, and I already knew that." She muttered darkly, shifting, looking about with a judgmental gaze. "Why **are** we here? It's not because you wanted to see a headstone..."

"No, it is not. There are only bones under this soil, not my mother. I actually decided to come here due to a dream I had last night."

She snorted ignorantly, laughing without humour.

"Like a premonition? What a waste..."

Vergil let a smile crop up and turned to look at her intently, burning through to her very core.

"It was actually for your benefit. You shall see, this place is like a test...I advise you to be wary."

She smiled back, this time with sarcasm printed on her features.

"And I advise you not to underestimate me...I can look after myself."

He shrugged.

"You're welcome to try. So far you have only failed." That brought her back down to size; he thought, the grin wiped clean off her face. He could not help but feel smug. "You are the child of a human...you only know the sky as you see it when you look up. Ignorance is bliss, after all."

He nodded at his own belief, though Lady's frown only deepened.

"Such simple happiness." He muttered, shaking his head. This, to Lady, made no fathomable sense.

"I am not happy, I told you before...not with you."

"Sorry I don't amuse you."

And then he was gone. In an instant, faster than lightning. Darkness evaded the space where he had been, and for a moment, Lady felt fearful. She looked about herself widely, and was suddenly reminded of the time when she had seen that demon die in Fortuna Castle due to Vergil's hand. Although she could have handled it herself...and wished she had never seen him that night, nor ever.

"Vergil?" she asked the silence, but there came no answer. All that greeted her were the countless gravestones, hundreds of them spanning for acres of dark land, and she remembered that she was about two miles from the Jag. He had made her walk far, and now she knew it was for this reason.

She went over the day in her head...left the house, driven the car without a syllable uttered, and then finally come to this place.

Did night usually come this quickly?

A sudden sound like metal grating marble rang in her ear, but as she turned, blackness was the only thing there. Immediately, she found one handgun and cocked it quickly, prepared for the worst.

It happened very unpredictably after that. Something so strange that she had never come across before, a completely alien kind of experience.

The silence..._began to sing. _

Was it just her? Was it a kind of defence in her head, signalling that it was all too much, too dark, too quiet? A kind of buzz to put her at ease?

No...it could not be. For with each passing second, it sang louder, and the hymn became a melody.

Then the earth quaked. Lady's balance almost faltered, and she had to rearrange her legs to stop herself from falling.

_What the hell was going on? The singing, the shaking? It made no sense..._

Until, that was, her eyes were finally given the gift of its sight.

And it was wretched. Lady's pupils expanded somewhat, for this was certainly no minor demon. It seemed elite...a kind of beast she had never seen before.

It was dark, as black as the deep night, hard to track with the use of naked vision. Tantalizing and smoky, it seemed to draw itself closer, and what seemed to be its arm extended, weaved in nightmarish smoke. Its blank face opened up, no eyes visible but its mouth hissed, silver teeth contrasting with twilight. Saliva fell from its open jaws, and of what she could tell, the elusive creature took a step closer, so Lady jumped back.

Claws came into view, long, sharp and white. Lady held up one handgun, this time determined...

She would show Vergil. She wouldn't fall to this petty creature of night.

A sharp sound slashed in her ears, something quick and almost transparent fleeing past her face, and without hesitance her finger hit the trigger repeatedly.

_Bullet...bullet...bullet_

The clear bang of each eruption seemed to make it all better. The world righted itself, every vibration jading itself into her hand healing her, making it all normal again.

She was not the hunted...not the prey. She was the hunter, and the beast would die. Because that was the way it was meant to be.

Finally, Lady's logic returned.

But so did Vergil. She didn't even notice him standing beside her once more, all she now knew in her world was that her duty was to pull triggers and kill demons. Cock**,** pull, fire. Cock, pull, fire...

...even though the demon wasn't even really there. Vergil had found the source of Lady's self-inflicted purpose, but she was so wrapped up in things that she could not win that she was blinded.

He looked at her, and for a moment, felt a pang of sorrow fist his heart. She still could not see him there, was still concentrated on killing the beast that he had created and planted in her imagination. The bullets continued to ring out in a deathly rhythm, a perfect three second break between each one.

Until finally, Vergil layed a hand on her gun, and Lady jumped, eyes wide with fright. In that small instant, she seemed to realise where she was again. The gun fell to her side slowly, and he held her eyes in a steady gaze. Defiantly she looked away, back to the spot where she was _certain_ she had seen that demon...Vergil's stare did not move from her shocked, puzzled expression.

"Do you now understand how a child of a human only sees blue skies and nothing more?" he pondered aloud, and still, knew she couldn't relate. With strength, she turned back to him, a deep frown setting in to damage her innocence.

"No." She said, truthfully. She had no idea what he meant, she would not lie.

Slowly Vergil blinked, a kind of mutual feeling setting in. She was honest when he didn't deserve it, so in turn he should be...

"The beast was never there and I never left you. It was an illusion."

"You did that?" her mouth hollow with surprise, Vergil careful to dodge her anger.

"Yes. It was only optical. But it proves my point regarding this immense world. You cannot see it, which is good, because if humans truly realized the infinite span of the sky, they would surly die in despair..."

Finally fed up with his riddles, Lady burst out.

"But your mother was human! Your half, how can you stand there and-?"

"I do not embrace my human heritage, I have blocked it out and so it means nothing!" his tone spiteful and venomous, just like her glare.

"This was just pointless, utterly pointless! You brought me here to tell me the sky is blue-?"

"No, I brought you here to make you see that everything you know and fight for is a complete sham. You spend your life committing yourself to an impossible task; to kill ever last demon. I could not complete that task, so you never shall!" they both fell silent, but Vergil had not finished and thought for a moment about what he would now say and mean.

"Your human, but you're not like the rest. Why do you think I picked you?"

"For your own sick fucking amusement-"

He rolled his eyes and tried again.

"No, because whether you want to acknowledge it or not, your quite similar to me. So you will help me..."

Suddenly more aware, Lady looked at the icy man carefully, top to bottom. Again, he seemed immobilised, not one perfect feature quivering. With the dark backdrop, she was aware of his haunting handsomeness, but put it aside. It was the cold she noticed, freezing, emotionless, corruptive...Vergil in a nutshell.

She started again, slow and careful.

"What exactly are you planning, Vergil?"

He glared at her with those piercing pupils, finally sensing that she was on the same page as him.

"To finish what I started. To open up hell and take it, I believe the seal under Fortuna's city is the one I need...and you will come with me."

"For power?"

"In ways...power validates my existence. But mostly because it is my place to do so. I will see Dante again, and when I do I'll savour every moment, but my plan mostly concerns your pure blood and my heritage. Now go back to the car."

She stood for a moment, gaping, unbelieving. What he had just told her was revolutionary, yet not in a good way...and he wanted her to go back to the car? To drive to Fortuna and fuck the world up by unleashing hell? What about the innocents that would suffer? What about humans...?

"You won't pull it off. You failed last time, and you'll fail this time!"

With that she stormed back up the graveyard path.

And so she did not see the son of Sparda kneel on his mother's grave, and whisper most beautifully, "I'm sorry."


End file.
